THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


CUORE 


ITALIAN  SCHOOLBOY'S  JOURNAL 


Book  for  Bogs 


EDMONDO   DE   AMICIS 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  THIRTY-NINTH  ITALIAN  EDITION 
BY 

ISABEL  F.  HAPGOOD 


YORK  :  46  EAST  14TH  STREET 

THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  COMPANY 

BOSTON:    100  PUUCIIASE  STREET 


Copyright, 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  COMPANY, 

1887  AND  1895. 


College 
Library 


CONTENTS. 


OCTOBEE. 

THE  FIRST  DAT  OF  SCHOOL 1 

OCR  MASTER 3 

AN  ACCIDENT 6 

THE  CALABRIAN  BOY 6 

Air  COMRADES 8 

A  GENEROUS  DEED 10 

MY  SCHOOLMISTRESS  OF  THE  UPPER  FIRST 12 

IN  AN  ATTIC 14 

THE  SCHOOL 16 

The  Little  Patriot  of  Padua 17 

THE   CHIMNEY-SWEEP 20 

THE  DAY  OF  THE  DEAD 22 

NOVEMBER. 

MY  FRIEND  GARRONE 24 

THE  CHARCOAL-MAN  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN 26 

MY  BROTHER'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS 28 

MY  MOTHER 30 

MY  COMPANION  CORETTI 31 

THE  HEAD-MASTER 35 

THE  SOLDIERS 38 

NELLI'S  PROTECTOR 40 

THE  HEAD  OF  THE  CLASS 42 

The  Little  Vldette  of  Lombardy 44 

THE  POOR 5tt 

DECEMBER. 

THE  TRADER 52 

VANITY 64 

THE  FIRST  SNOW-STORM 56 

THE  LITTLE  MASON  . .  .58 


1116092 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A  SNOWBALL '60 

THE  MISTRESSES 62 

IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WOUNDED  MAN 64 

The  Little  Florentine  Scribe 66 

WILL 75 

GRATITUDE 77 

JANUARY. 

THE  ASSISTANT  MASTER 79 

STARDI'S  LIBRARY 81 

THE  SON  OF  THE  BLACKSMITH-IRONMONGER 83 

A  FINE  VISIT 85 

THE  FUNERAL  OF  VITTORIO  EMANUELE 87 

FRANTI  EXPELLED  FROM  SCHOOL 89 

77ie  Sardinian  Drummer-Boy 91 

THE  LOVE  OF  COUNTRY 100 

ENVY 102 

FRANTI'S  MOTHER 104 

HOPE ,. 105 

FEBRUARY. 

A  MEDAL  WELL  BESTOWED 108 

GOOD  RESOLUTIONS 110 

THE  ENGINE 112 

PRIDE 114 

THE  WOUNDS  OF  LABOR 116 

THE  PRISONER 118 

Daddy's  Nurse 122 

THE  WORKSHOP 132 

THE  LITTLE  HARLEQUIN 135 

THE  LAST  DAY  OF  THE  CARNIVAL 139 

THE  BLIND  BOYS 142 

THE  SICK  MASTER 149 

THE  STREET 151 

MARCH. 

THE  EVENING  SCHOOLS 154 

THE  FIGHT 156 

THE  BOYS'  PARENTS .  158 


CONTENTS.  V 

PAGE 

NUMBER  78 160 

A  LITTLE  DEAD  BOY 163 

THE  EVE  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  OF  MARCH 164 

THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES 166 

STRIFE 172 

MY  SISTER ....  174 

Blood  of  Romagna 176 

THE  LITTLE  MASON  ON  His  SICK-BED 184 

COUNT  CAVOUR 187 

APRIL. 

SPRING 189 

KING  UMBERTO 191 

THE  INFANT  ASYLUM 196 

GYMNASTICS . .  201 

MY  FATHER'S  TEACHER 204 

CONVALESCENCE 215 

FRIENDS  AMONG  THE  WORKINGMEN 217 

GARRONE'S  MOTHER 219 

GIUSEPPE  MAZZINI 221 

Civic  Valor 223 

MAY. 

CHILDREN  WITH  THE  RICKETS 229 

SACRIFICE 231 

THE  FIRE 233 

From  the  Apennines  to  the  Andes 237 

SUMMER 276 

POETRY 278 

THE  DEAF-MUTE  .,,..., 280 

i 

JUNE. 

GARIBALDI 290 

THE  ARMY 291 

ITALY 293 

THIRTY-TWO  DEGREES 295 

MY  FATHER '. 297 

IN  THE  COUNTRY 298 


yi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PEIZES  TO  THE  WORKINGMEN 302 

MY  DEAD  SCHOOLMISTRESS 305 

THANKS 308 

Shipwreck 309 

JULY. 

THE  LAST  PAGE  FROM  MY  MOTHER 317 

THE  EXAMINATIONS 318 

THE  LAST  EXAMINATION 321 

FAREWELL 323 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE  HEAD  MASTER  (page  36) Frontispiece 

VIGNETTE Title 

CHAPTER  HEADING Page  1 

"  LITTLE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  FIRST  AND  LOWEST  SECTION  "  2 

"A  GENEROUS  DEED" 11 

"  IN  AN  ATTIC  " 15 

"THE  LITTLE  PATRIOT  OF  PADUA" 18 

THE  CHARCOAL  MAN  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN 27 

"  THINK  OF  THE  THOUSANDS  OF  CREATURES  TO  WHOM 

WINTER  BRINGS  MISERY  " 57 

"STOP  THAT,  You  LITTLE  KASCALS  !  " CO 

THEN  THE  TROOP  DARTED  OUT  OF  THE  DOOR 97 

"I'M  ONLY  A  CAPTAIN  :  You  ARE  A  HERO" 100 

A  MEDAL  WELL  BESTOWED 108 

"  THE  BOY  HAD  WALKED  TEN  MILES  " 123 

THE  BLIND  BOYS 147 

"  HURRAH  FOR  THE  DEPUTY  OF  CALABRIA  " 166 

SEARCHING  THE  CUPBOARD 181 

"  THE  BOYS  HAD  DAUBED  THEIR  HANDS  WITH  RESIN  "  .  202 

MY  FATHER'S  TEACHER 209 

CHILDREN  WITH  THE  RICKETS 229 

"HE  STOOD  WATCHING  THE  CONVOY  UNTIL  IT  WAS  LOST 

TO  SIGHT" 263 

"WE  DESCENDED,  RUNNING  AND  SINGING" 301 

THE  LAST  EXAMINATION 321 


CUOBE. 

AN  ITALIAN  SCHOOLBOY'S  JOUKNAL. 


OCTOBER. 


FIRST  DAY  OF  SCHOOL. 

Monday,  17th 

TO-DAY  is  the  first  day  of  school.  These  three 
months  of  vacation  in  the  country  have  passed  like  a 
dream.  This  morning  my  mother  conducted  me  to  the 
Baretti  schoolhouse  to  have  me  enter  for  the  third 
elementary  course  :  I  was  thinking  of  the  country,  and 
went  unwillingly.  All  the  streets  were  swarming  with 
boys :  the  two  book-shops  were  thronged  with  fathers 
and  mothers  who  were  purchasing  bags,  portfolios, 
and  copy-books,  and  in  front  of  the  school  so  many 
people  had  collected,  that  the  beadle  and  the  policeman 
found  it  difficult  to  keep  the  entrance  disencumbered. 
Near  the  door,  I  felt  myself  touched  on  the  shoulder : 
it  Avas  my  master  of  the  second  class,  cheerful,  as  usual, 
and  with  his  red  hair  ruffled,  and  he  said  to  me  :  — 
"  So  we  are  separated  forever,  Enrico  ?  " 
I  knew  it  perfectly  well,  yet  these  words  pained  me. 
We  made  our  way  in  with  difficulty.  Ladies,  gentle- 
men, women  of  the  people,  workmen,  officials,  nuns, 
servants,  all  leading  boys  with  one  hand,  and  holding 
the  promotion  books  in  the  other,  filled  the  anteroom 
and  the  stairs,  making  such  a  buzzing,  that  it  seemed 
as  though  one  were  entering  a^  theatre.  I  beheld  again 
with  pleasure  that  large  room  on  the  ground  floor,  with 


2  THE  FIRST  DAT  OF  SCHOOL. 

the  doors  leading  to  the  seven  classes,  where  I  had 
passed  nearly  every  day  for  three  years.  There  was 
a  throng ;  the  teachers  were  going  and  coming.  My 
schoolmistress  of  the  first  upper  class  greeted  me  from 
the  door  of  the  class-room,  and  said :  — 

"  Enrico,  you  are  going  to  the  floor  above  this  year. 
I  shall  never  see  you  pass  by  any  more  !  "  and  she 
gazed  sadly  at  me.  The  director  was  surrounded  by 
women  in  distress  because  there  was  no  room  for  their 
sons,  and  it  struck  me  that  his  beard  was  a  little  whiter 
than  it  had  been  last  year.  I  found  the  boys  had 
grown  taller  and  stouter.  On  the  ground  floor,  where 
the  divisions  had  already  been  made,  there  were  little 
children  of  the  first  and  lowest  section,  who  did  not 
want  to  enter  the  class-rooms,  and  who  resisted  like 
donkeys  :  it  was  necessary  to  drag  them  in  by  force, 
and  some  escaped  from  the  benches  ;  others,  when  they 
saw  their  parents  depart,  began  to  cry,  and  the  parents 
had  to  go  back  and  comfort  and  reprimand  them,  and 
the  teachers  were  in  despair. 

My  little  brother  was  placed  in  the  class  of  Mis- 
tress Delcati :  I  was  put  with  Master  Perboni,  up 
stairs  on  the  first  floor.  At  ten  o'clock  we  were  all  in 
our  classes  :  fifty-four  of  us  ;  only  fifteen  or  sixteen  of 
my  companions  of  the  second  class,  among  them, 
Derossi,  the  one  who  always  gets  the  first  prize.  The 
school  seemed  to  me  so  small  and  gloomy  when  I 
thought  of  the  woods  and  the  mountains  where  I  had 
passed  the  summer !  I  thought  again,  too,  of  my 
master  in  the  second  class,  who  was  so  good,  and  who 
always  smiled  at  us,  and  was  so  small  that  he  seemed 
to  be  one  of  us,  and  I  grieved  that  I  should  no  longer 
see  him  there,  with  his  tumbled  red  hair.  Our  teacher 
is  tall ;  he  has  no  beard  ;  his  hair  is  gray  and  long  ;  and 


OUR  RASTER.  3 

he  has  a  perpendicular  wrinkle  on  his  forehead  :  he  has 
a  big  voice,  and  he  looks  at  us  fixedly,  one  after  the 
other,  as  though  he  were  reading  our  inmost  thoughts  ; 
and  he  never  smiles.  I  said  to  myself:  "  This  is  my 
first  day.  There  are  nine  months  more.  What  toil, 
what  monthly  examinations,  what  fatigue  !  "  I  really 
needed  to  see  my  mother  when  I  came  out,  and  I  ran 
to  kiss  her  hand.  She  said  to  me  :  — 

"  Courage,  Enrico  !  we  will  study  together."  And  I 
returned  home  content.  But  I  no  longer  have  my 
master,  with  his  kind,  merry  smile,  and  school  does  not 
seem  pleasant  to  me  as  it  did  before. 


OUR  MASTER. 

Tuesday,  18th. 

My  new  teacher  pleases  me  also,  since  this  morning. 
While  we  were  coming  in,  and  when  he  was  alreach" 
seated  at  his  post,  some  one  of  his  scholars  of  last  year 
every  now  and  then  peeped  in  at  the  door  to  salute 
him  ;  they  would  present  themselves  and  greet  him  :  — 

"  Good  morning,  Signor  Teacher  ! "  "  Good  morning, 
Signer  Perboni !  "  Some  entered,  touched  his  hand,  and 
ran  awa}-.  It  was  evident  that  they  liked  him,  and 
would  have  liked  to  return  to  him.  He  responded, 
"Good  morning,"  and  shook  the  hands  which  were 
extended  to  him,  but  he  looked  at  no  one ;  at  every 
greeting  his  smile  remained  serious,  with  that  pei'pen- 
dicular  wrinkle  on  his  brow,  with  his  face  turned 
towards  the  window,  and  staring  at  the  roof  of  the 
house  opposite  ;  and  instead  of  being  cheered  by  these 
greetings,  he  seemed  to  suffer  from  them.  Then  he  sur- 
veyed us  attentively,  one  after  the  other.  While  he  was 
dictating,  he  descended  and  walked  among  the  benches, 


4  OUR  MASTER. 

and,  catching  sight  of  a  boy  whose  face  was  all  red  with 
little  pimples,  he  stopped  dictating,  took  the  lad's  face 
between  his  hands  and  examined  it ;  then  he  asked  him 
what  was  the  matter  with  him,  and  laid  his  hand  on 
his  forehead,  to  feel  if  it  was  hot.  Meanwhile,  a 
boy  behind  him  got  up  on  the  bench,  and  began  to 
play  the  marionette.  The  teacher  turned  round  sud- 
denly ;  the  boy  resumed  his  seat  at  one -dash,  and  re- 
mained there,  with  head  hanging,  in  expectation  of 
being  punished.  The  master  placed  one  hand  on  his 
head  and  said  to  him  :  — 

"Don't  do  so  again."     Nothing  more. 

Then  he  returned  to  his  table  and  finished  the  dicta- 
tion. When  he  had  finished  dictating,  he  looked  at  us 
a  moment  in  silence  ;  then  he  said,  very,  very  slowh", 
with  his  big  but  kind  voice  :  — 

"Listen.  "We  have  a  year  to  pass  together;  let 
us  see  that  we  pass  it  well.  Study  and  be  good.  I 
have  no  family  ;  you  are  my  family.  Last  year  I  had 
still  a  mother  ;  she  is  dead.  I  am  left  alone.  I  have 
no  one  but  you  in  all  the  world ;  I  have  no  other  affec- 
tion, no  other  thought  than  you  :  }'ou  must  be  my  sons. 
I  wish  you  well,  and  you  must  like  me  too.  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  obliged  to  punish  any  one.  Show  me  that 
you  are  boys  of  heart :  our  school  shall  be  a  family,  and 
you  shall  be  my  consolation  and  my  pride.  I  do  not 
ask  you  to  give  me  a  promise  on  your  word  of  honor  ; 
I  am  sure  that  in  j'our  hearts  you  have  already 
answered  me  '  yes,'  and  I  thank  you." 

At  that  moment  the  beadle  entered  to  announce  the 
close  of  school.  We  all  left  our  seats  very,  very 
quietly.  The  boy  who  had  stood  up  on  the  bench 
approached  the  master,  and  said  to  him,  in  a  trembling 
voice :  — 


AN  ACCIDENT.  5 

"Forgive  me,  Signer  Master." 

The  master  kissed  him  on  the  brow,  and  said,  "  Go, 
my  son." 

AN  ACCIDENT. 

Friday,  21st. 

The  year  has  begun  with  an  accident.  On  my  way 
to  school  this  morning  I  was  repeating  to  my  father 
these  words  of  our  teacher,  when  we  perceived  that  the 
street  was  full  of  people,  who  were  pressing  close  to 
the  door  of  the  schoolhouse.  Suddenly  my  father 
said  :  "  An  accident !  The  year  is  beginning  badly  ! " 

We  entered  with  great  difficulty.  The  big  hall  was 
crowded  with  parents  and  children,  whom  the  teachers 
had  not  succeeded  in  drawing  off  into  the  class-rooms, 
and  all  were  turning  towards  the  director's  room,  and 
we  heard  the  words,  "  Poor  boy  !  Poor  Robetti !  " 

Over  their  heads,  at  the  end  of  the  room,  we  could 
see  the  helmet  of  a  policeman,  and  the  bald  head  of 
the  director ;  then  a  gentleman  with  a  tall  hat  entered, 
and  all  said,  "  That  is  the  doctor."  My  father  in- 
quired of  a  master,  "What  has  happened?"  —  "A 
wheel  has  passed  over  his  foot,"  replied  the  latter. 
"  His  foot  has  been  crushed,"  said  another.  He  was  a 
boy  belonging  to  the  second  class,  who,  on  his  way  to 
school  through  the  Via  Dora  Grossa,  seeing  a  little 
child  of  the  lowest  class,  who  had  run  away  from  its 
mother,  fall  down  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  a  few 
paces  from  an  omnibus  which  was  bearing  down  upon 
it,  had  hastened  boldly  forward,  caught  up  the  child, 
and  placed  it  in  safet}- ;  but,  as  he  had  not  withdrawn 
his  own  foot  quickly  enough,  the  wheel  of  the  omnibus 
had  passed  over  it.  He  is  the  son  of  a-  captain  of 
artillery.  While  we  were  being  told  this,  a  woman 


6  THE  CAL ADRIAN  BOY. 

entered  the  big  hall,  like  a  lunatic,  and  forced  her  way 
through  the  crowd  :  she  was  Robetti's  mother,  who  had 
been  sent  for.  Another  woman  hastened  towards  her, 
and  flung  her  arms  about  her  neck,  with  sobs  :  it  was 
the  mother  of  the  baby  who  had  been  saved.  Both 
flew  into  the  room,  and  a  desperate  cry  made  itself 
heard  :  "  Oh  my  Giulio  !  My  child  !  " 

At  that  moment  a  carriage  stopped  before  the  door, 
and  a  little  later  the  director  made  his  appearance,  with 
the  boy  in  his  arms ;  the  latter  leaned  his  head  on  his 
shoulder,  with  pallid  face  and  closed  eyes.  Every  one 
stood  very  still ;  the  sobs  of  the  mother  were  audible. 
The  director  paused  a  moment,  quite  pale,  and  raised 
the  boy  up  a  little  in  his  arms,  in  order  to  show  him  to 
the  people.  And  then  the  masters,  mistresses,  parents, 
and  boys  all  murmured  together:  "Bravo,  Robetti! 
Bravo,  poor  child!"  and  they  threw  kisses  to  him; 
the  mistresses  and  bo}^  who  were  near  him  kissed  his 
hands  and  his  arms.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  said, 
' '  My  portfolio  !  "  The  mother  of  the  little  boy  whom 
he  had  saved  showed  it  to  him  and  said,  amid  her 
tears,  "  I  will  carry  it  for  you,  my  dear  little  angel ;  I 
will  carry  it  for  you."  And  in  the  meantime,  the 
mother  of  the  wounded  boy  smiled,  as  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  They  went  out,  placed  the  lad 
comfortably  in  the  carriage,  and  the  carriage  drove 
away.  Then  we  all  entered  school  in  silence. 


THE   CALABRIAN   BOY. 

Saturday,  22d. 

Yesterday  afternoon,  while  the  master  was  telling  us 
the  news  ef  poor  Robetti,  who  will  have  to  go  on 
crutches,  the  director  entered  with  a  new  pupil,  a  lad 


THE  CALABRIAN  BOY.  7 

with  a  vet}'  brown  face,  black  hair,  large  black  eyes, 
and  thick  eyebrows  which  met  on  his  forehead :  he  was 
dressed  entirely  in  dark  clothes,  with  a  black  morocco 
belt  round  his  waist.  The  director  went  away,  after 
speaking  a  few  words  in  the  master's  ear,  leaving 
beside  the  latter  the  boy,  who  glanced  about  with  his 
big  black  eyes  as  though  frightened.  The  master  took 
him  by  the  hand,  and  said  to  the  class:  "You  ought 
to  be  glad.  To-day  there  enters  our  school  a  little 
Italian  born  in  Reggio,  in  Calabria,  more  than  five  hun- 
dred miles  from  here.  Love  your  brother  who  has 
come  from  so  far  away.  He  was  born  in  a  glorious 
laud,  which  has  given  illustrious  men  to  Italy,  and 
which  now  furnishes  her  with  stout  laborers  and  brave 
soldiers  ;  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  lands  of  our 
country,  where  there  are  great  forests,  and  great  moun- 
tains, inhabited  by  people  full  of  talent  and  courage. 
Treat  him  well,  so  that  he  shall  not  perceive  that  he  is 
far  away  from  the  city  in  which  he  was  born  ;  make 
him  see  that  an  Italian  boy,  in  whatever  Italian  school 
he  sets  his  foot,  will  find  brothers  there."  So  saying, 
he  rose  and  pointed  out  on  the  wall  map  of  Italy  the 
spot  where  lay  Reggio,  in  Calabria.  Then  he  called 
loudly  :  — 

"  Ernesto  Derossi !  "  —  the  bo}-  who  always  has  the 
first  prize.  Derossi  rose. 

"Come  here,"  said  the  master.  Derossi  left  his 
bench  and  stepped  up  to  the  little  table,  facing  the 
Calabrian. 

"As  the  head  boy  in  the  school,"  said  the  master  to 
him,  "bestow  the  embrace  of  welcome  on  this  new 
companion,  in  the  name  of  the  whole  class  —  the  em- 
brace of  the  sons  of  Piedmont  to  the  son  of  Calabria." 

Derossi  embraced  the  Calabrian,  saying  in  his  clear 


g  MY  COMRADES. 

voice,  "  Welcome ! "  and  the  other  kissed  him  im- 
petuously on  the  cheeks.  All  clapped  their  hands. 
"  Silence  !  "  cried  the  master  ;  "  don't  clap  your  hands 
in  school ! "  But  it  was  evident  that  he  was  pleased. 
And  the  Calabrian  was  pleased  also.  The  master 
assigned  him  a  place,  and  accompanied  him  to  the 
bench.  Then  he  said  again  :  — 

"Bear  well  in  mind  what  I  have  said  to  you.  In 
order  that  this  case  might  occur.;  that  a  Calabrian  boy 
should  be  as  though  in  his  own  house  at  Turin,  and 
that  a  boy  from  Turin  should  be  at  home  in  Calabria, 
our  country  fought  for  fifty  years,  and  thirty  thousand 
Italians  died.  You  must  all  respect  and  love  each 
other ;  but  any  one  of  you  who  should  give  offence  to 
this  comrade,  because  he  was  not  born  in  our  province, 
would  render  himself  unworthy  of  ever  again  raising 
his  eyes  from  the  earth  when  he  passes  the  tricolored 


Hardly  was  the  Calabrian  seated  in  his  place,  when 
his  neighbors  presented  him  with  pens  and  a,  print;  and 
another  boy,  from  the  last  bench,  sent  him  a  Swiss 
postage-stamp. 


MY  COMRADES. 

Tuesday,  25th. 

The  boy  who  sent  the  postage-stamp  to  the  Ca- 
labrian is  the  one  who  pleases  me  best  of  all.  His 
name  is  Garrone :  he  is  the  biggest  boy  in  the  class ; 
he  is  about  fourteen  years  old ;  his  head  is  large, 
his  shoulders  broad ;  he  is  good,  as  one  can  see  when 
he  smiles ;  but  it  seems  as  though  he  always  thought 
like  a  man.  I  already  know  many  of  my  comrades. 
Another  one  pleases  me,  too,  by  the  name  of  Coretti, 


MY  COMRADES.  9 

and  he  wears  chocolate-colored  trousers  and  a  catskin 
cap :  he  is  always  jolly ;  he  is  the  son  of  a  huckster 
of  wood,  who  was  a  soldier  in  the  war  of  1866,  in  the 
squadron  of  Prince  Umberto,  and  they  say  that  he  has 
three  medals.  There  is  little  Nelli,  a  poor  hunch- 
back, a  weak  boy,  with  a  thin  face.  There  is  one  who 
is  very  well  dressed,  who  always  wears  fine  Florentine 
plush,  and  is  named  Votini.  On  the  bench  in  front  of 
me  there  is  a  boy  who  is  called  "the  little  mason" 
because  his  father  is  a  mason  :  his  face  is  as  round 
as  an  apple,  with  a  nose  like  a  small  ball ;  he  possesses 
a  special  talent :  he  knows  how  to  make  a  hare's  face, 
and  they  all  get  him  to  make  a  hare's  face,  and  then 
they  laugh.  He  wears  a  little  ragged  cap,  which  he 
carries  rolled  up  in  his  pocket  like  a  handkerchief. 
Beside  the  little  mason  there  sits  Garoffi,  a  long, 
thin,  silly  fellow,  with  a  nose  and  beak  of  a  screech- 
owl,  and  very  small  eyes,  who  is  always  trafficking 
in  little  pens  and  images  and  match-boxes,  and  who 
writes  the  lesson  on  his  nails,  in  order  that  he  may  read 
it  on  the  sly.  Then  there  is  a  young  gentleman,  Carlo 
Nobis,  who  seems  very  haughty ;  and  he  is  between 
two  boys  who  are  sympathetic  to  ms, — the  son  of  a 
blacksmith-ironmonger,  clad  in  a  jacket  which  reaches 
to  his  knees,  who  is  pale,  as  though  from  illness,  who 
always  has  a  frightened  air,  and  who  never  laughs ; 
and  one  with  red  hair,  who  has  a  useless  arm,  and 
wears  it  suspended  from  his  neck  ;  his  father  has  gone 
away  to  America,  and  his  mother  goes  about  peddling 
pot-herbs.  And  there  is  another  curious  type,  —  m}- 
neighbor  on  the  left,  —  Stardi — small  and  thickset,  with 
no  neck,  —  a  gruff  fellow,  who  speaks  to  no  one,  and 
seems  not  to  understand  much,  but  stands  attending  to 
the  master  without  winking,  his  brow  corrugated  with 


10  A   GENEROUS  DEED. 

wrinkles,  and  his  teeth  clenched ;  and  if  he  is  ques- 
tioned when  the  master  is  speaking,  he  makes  no  reply 
the  first  and  second  times,  and  the  third  time  he  gives 
a  kick :  and  beside  him  there  is  a  bold,  cunning  face, 
belonging  to  a  boy  named  Franti,  who  has  already 
been  expelled  from  another  district.  There  are,  in 
addition,  two  brothers  who  are  di'essed  exactby  alike, 
who  resemble  each  other  to  a  hair,  and  both  of  whom 
wear  caps  of  Calabrian  cut,  with  a  peasant's  plume. 
But  handsomer  than  all  the  rest,  the  one  who  has  the 
most  talent,  who  will  surely  be  the  head  this  year  also, 
is  Derossi ;  and  the  master,  who  has  already  perceived 
this,  always  questions  him.  But  I  like  Precossi,  the 
son  of  the  blacksmith-ironmonger,  the  one  with  the 
long  jacket,  who  seems  sickly.  They  say  that  his 
father  beats  him  ;  he  is  very  timid,  and  every  time  that 
he  addresses  or  touches  any  one,  he  says,  "  Excuse 
me,"  and  gazes  at  them  with  his  kind,  sad  eyes.  But 
Garrone  is  the  biggest  and  the  nicest. 


A   GENEROUS   DEED. 

Wednesday,  26th. 

It  was  this  very  morning  that  Garrone  let  us  know 
what  he  is  like.  When  I  entered  the  school  a  little 
late,  because  the  mistress  of  the  upper  first  had  stopped 
me  to  inquire  at  what  hour  she  could  find  me  at  home, 
the  master  had  not  yet  arrived,  and  three  or  four  boys 
\vere  tormenting  poor  Crossi,  the  one  with  the  red  hair, 
who  has  a  dead  arm,  and  whose  mother  sells  vegeta- 
bles. They  were  poking  him  with  rulers,  hitting  him 
in  the  face  with  chestnut  shells,  and  were  making 
him  out  to  be  a  cripple  and  a  monster,  by  mimicking 


A  GENEROUS   DEED. —Page 


A   GENEROUS  DEED.  H 

him,  with  his  arm  hanging  from  his  neck.  And  he, 
alone  on  the  end  of  the  bench,  and  quite  pale,  began  to 
be  affected  by  it,  gazing  now  at  one  and  now  at  another 
with  beseeching  eyes,  that  they  might  leave  him  in 
peace.  But  the  others  mocked  him  worse  than  ever, 
and  he  began  to  tremble  and  to  turn  crimson  with  rage. 
All  at  once,  Franti,  the  boy  with  the  repulsive  face, 
sprang  upon  a  bench,  and  pretending  that  he  was  car- 
ping a  basket  on  each  arm,  he  aped  the  mother  of 
Crossi,  when  she  used  to  come  to  wait  for  her  son  at 
the  door  ;  for  she  is  ill  now.  Many  began  to  laugh 
loudly.  Then  Crossi  lost  his  head,  and  seizing  an  ink- 
stand, he  hurled  it  at  the  other's  head  with  all  his 
strength  ;  but  Franti  dodged,  and  the  inkstand  struck 
the  master,  who  entered  at  the  moment,  full  in  the 
breast. 

All  flew  to  their  places,  and  became  silent  with 
terror. 

The  master,  quite  pale,  went  to  his  table,  and  said 
in  a  constrained  voice  :  — 

"Who  did  it?" 

No  one  replied. 

The  master  cried  out  once  more,  raising  his  voice 
still  louder,  "Who  is  it?" 

Then  Garrone,  moved  to  pity  for  poor  Crossi,  rose 
abruptly  and  said,  resolutely,  "  It  was  I." 

The  master  looked  at  him,  looked  at  the  stupefied 
scholars  ;  then  said  in  a  tranquil  voice,  "  It  was  not 
you." 

And,  after  a  moment:  "The  culprit  shall  not  be 
punished.  Let  him  rise  !  " 

Crossi  rose  and  said,  weeping,  "  They  were  strik- 
ing me  and  insulting  me,  and  I  lost  my  head,  and 
threw  it." 


12        MY  SCHOOLMISTRESS  OF  THE  UPPER  FIRST. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  master.  "  Let  those  who 
provoked  him  rise." 

Four  rose,  and  hung  their  heads. 

"  You,"  said  the  master,  "have  insulted  a  compan- 
ion who  had  given  you  no  provocation ;  you  have 
scoffed  at  an  unfortunate  lad,  you  have  struck  a 
weak  person  who  could  not  defend  himself.  You 
have  committed  one  of  the  basest,  the  most  shameful 
acts  with  which  a  human  creature  can  stain  himself. 
Cowards ! " 

Having  said  this,  he  came  down  among  the  benches, 
put  his  hand  under  Garrone's  chin,  as  the  latter  stood 
with  drooping  head,  and  having  made  him  raise  it,  he 
looked  him  straight  in  the  eye,  and  said  to  him,  "You 
are  a  noble  soul." 

Garrone  profited  by  the  occasion  to  murmur  some 
words,  I  know  not  what,  in  the  ear  of  the  master ; 
and  he,  turning  towards  the  four  culprits,  said, 
abruptly,  "  I  forgive  you." 


MY   SCHOOLMISTRESS   OF   THE   UPPER    FIRST. 

Thursday,  27th. 

My  schoolmistress  has  kept  her  promise  which  she 
made,  and  came  to-day  just  as  I  was  on  the  point  of 
going  out  with  my  mother  to  carry  some  linen  to  a  poor 
woman  recommended  by  the  Gazette.  It  was  a  year 
since  I  had  seen  her  in  our  house.  We  all  made  a 
great  deal  of  her.  She  is  just  the  same  as  ever,  a  little 
thing,  with  a  green  veil  wound  about  her  bonnet,  care- 
lessly dressed,  and  with  untidy  hair,  because  she  has 
not  time  to  keep  herself  nice ;  but  with  a  little  less 


MY  SCHOOLMISTRESS  OF  THE  UPPER  FIRST.       13 

color   than  last   year,    with  some  white  hairs,  and  a 
constant  cough.     My  mother  said  to  her  :  — 

"And  your  health,  my  dear  mistress?     You  do  not 
take  sufficient  care  of  yourself !  " 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  the  other  replied,  with  her 
smile,  at  once  cheerful  and  melancholy. 

"  You  speak  too  loud,"  my  mother  added  ;  "  you  ex- 
ert yourself  too  much  with  your  boys." 

That  is  true ;  her  voice  is  always  to  be  heard ;  I 
remember  how  it  was  when  I  went  to  school  to  her  ;  she 
talked  and  talked  all  the  time,  so  that  the  boys  might 
not  divert  their  attention,  and  she  did  not  remain 
seated  a  moment.  I  felt  quite  sure  that  she  would 
come,  because  she  never  forgets  her  pupils ;  she  re- 
members their  names  for  years  ;  on  the  days  of  the 
monthly  examination,  she  runs  to  ask  the  director 
what  marks  they  have  won  ;  she  waits  for  them  at  the 
entrance,  and  makes  them  show  her  their  compositions, 
in  order  that  she  ma}*  see  what  progress  the}*  have 
made  ;  and  many  still  come  from  the  gymnasium  to  see 
her,  who  already  wear  long  trousers  and  a  watch.  To- 
day she  had  come  back  in  a  great  state  of  excitement, 
from  the  picture-gallery,  whither  she  had  taken  her 
boys,  just  as  she  had  conducted  them  all  to  a  museum 
every  Thursday  in  years  gone  by,  and  explained  every- 
thing to  them.  The  poor  mistress  has  grown  still  thin- 
ner than  of  old.  But  she  is  always  brisk,  and  always 
becomes  animated  when  she  speaks  of  her  school.  She 
wanted  to  have  a  peep  at  the  bed  on  which  she  had 
seen  me  lying  very  ill  two  years  ago,  and  which  is  now 
occupied  by  my  brother;  she  gazed  at  it  for  a  while, 
and  could  not  speak.  She  was  obliged  to  go  away  soon 
to  visit  a  boy  belonging  to  her  class,  the  son  of  a  sad- 
dler, who  is  ill  with  the  measles  ;  and  she  had  besides 


14  IN  AN  ATTIC. 

a  package  of  sheets  to  correct,  a  whole  evening's  work, 
and  she  has  still  a  private  lesson  in  arithmetic  to  give 
to  the  mistress  of  a  shop  before  nightfall. 

"Well,  Enrico,"  she  said  to  me  as  she  was  going, 
"are  you  still  fond  of  your  schoolmistress,  now  that 
you  solve  difficult  problems  and  write  long  composi- 
tions?"  She  kissed  me,  and  called  up  once  more  from 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  :  "  You  are  not  to  forget  me,  you 
know,  Enrico  ! "  Oh,  my  kind  teacher,  never,  never 
will  I  forget  thee  !  Even  when  I  grow  up  I  will  re- 
member th6e  and  will  go  to  seek  thee  among  thy  boys ; 
and  every  time  that  I  pass  near  a  school  and  hear  the 
voice  of  a  schoolmistress,  I  shall  think  that  I  hear  thy 
voice,  and  I  shall  recall  the  two  years  that  I  passed  in 
thy  school,  where  I  learned  so  many  things,  where  I 
so  often  saw  thee  ill  and  weary,  but  always  earnest,  al- 
ways indulgent,  in  despair  when  any  one  acquired  a 
bad  trick  in  the  writing-fingers,  trembling  when  the  ex- 
aminers interrogated  us,  happy  when  we  made  a  good 
appearance,  always  kind  and  loving  as  a  mother. 
Never,  never  shall  I  forget  thee,  my  teacher ! 


IN  AN  ATTIC. 

Friday,  28th. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I  went  with  my  mother  and  my 
sister  Sylvia,  to  carry  the  linen  to  the  poor  woman  rec- 
ommended by  the  newspaper :  I  carried  the  bundle ; 
Sylvia  had  the  paper  with  the  initials  of  the  name  and 
the  address.  We  climbed  to  the  very  roof  of  a  tall 
fyouse,  to  a  long  corridor  with  many  doors.  My  mother 
knocked  at  the  last ;  it  was  opened  by  a  woman  who 
was  still  young,  blond  and  thin,  and  it  instantly  struck 


IN    AN    ATTIC.-  Page  15. 


IN  AN  ATTIC.  15 

me  that  I  had  seen  her  many  times  before,  with  that 
very  same  blue  kerchief  that  she  wore  on  her  head. 

"Are  you  the  person  of  whom  the  newspaper  says 
so  and  so?  "  asked  my  mother. 

"  Yes,  signora,  I  am." 

"Well,  we  have  brought  you  a  little  linen."  Then 
the  woman  began  to  thank  us  and  bless  us,  and  could 
not  make  enough  of  it.  Meanwhile  I  espied  in  one 
corner  of  the  bare,  dark  room,  a  boy  kneeling  in  front 
of  a  chair,  with  his  back  turned  towards  us,  who  ap- 
peared to  be  writing ;  and  he  really  was  writing,  with 
his  paper  on  the  chair  and  his  inkstand  on  the  floor. 
How  did  he  manage  to  write  thus  in  the  dark  ?  While 
I  was  saying  this  to  myself,  I  suddenh"  recognized  the 
red  hair  and  the  coarse  jacket  of  Crossi,  the  son  of  the 
vegetable-pedler,  the  boy  with  the  useless  arm.  1 
told  my  mother  softly,  while  the  woman  was  putting 
awa}-  the  things. 

"  Hush  !  "  re  plied  my  mother  ;  "  perhaps  he  will  feel 
ashamed  to  see  you  giving  alms  to  his  mother :  don't 
speak  to  him." 

But  at  that  moment  Crossi  turned  round  ;  I  was  em- 
barrassed ;  he  smiled,  and  then  my  mother  gave  me  a 
push,  so  that  I  should  run  to  him  and  embrace  him. 
I  did  embrace  him  :  he  rose  and  took  me  by  the  hand. 

"  Here  I  am,"  his  mother  was  saying  in  the  mean- 
time to  my  mother,  "  alone  with  this  boy,  my  husband 
in  America  these  seven  years,  and  I  sick  in  addition, 
so  that  I  can  no  longer  make  my  rounds  with  my  vege- 
tables, and  earn  a  few  cents.  We  have  not  even  a 
table  left  for  my  poor  Luigino  to  do  his  work  on. 
When  there  was  a  bench  down  at  the  door,  he  could, 
at  least,  write  on  the  bench ;  but  that  has  been  taken 
away.  He  has  not  even  a  little  light  so  that  he  can 


16  THE  SCHOOL. 

study  without  ruining  his  eyes.  And  it  is  a  mercy  that 
I  can  send  him  to  school,  since  the  city  provides  him 
with  books  and  copy-books.  Poor  Luigino,  who  would 
be  so  glad  to  study  !  Unhappy  woman,  that  I  am  !  " 

My  mother  gave  her  all  that  she  had  in  her  purse, 
kissed  the  boy,  and  almost  wept  as  we  went  out.  And 
she  had  good  cause  to  say  to  me :  "  Look  at  that  poor 
boy  ;  see  how  he  is  forced  to  work,  when  you  have 
every  comfort,  and  yet  study  seems  hard  to  you  !  Ah ! 
Enrico,  there  is  more  merit  in  the  work  which  he  does 
in  one  day,  than  in  your  work  for  a  year.  It  is  to 
such  that  the  first  prizes  should  be  given ! " 


THE   SCHOOL. 

Friday,  28th. 

Yes,  study  comes  hard  to  you,  my  dear  Enrico,  as  your 
mother  says :  I  do  not  yet  see  you  set  out  for  school  with 
that  resolute  mind  and  that  smiling  face  which  I  should 
like.  You  are  still  intractable.  But  listen  ;  reflect  a  little ! 
What  a  miserable,  despicable  thing  your  day  would  be  if 
you  did  not  go  to  school !  At  the  end  of  a  week  you  would 
beg  with  clasped  hands  that  you  might  return  there,  for  you 
would  be  eaten  up  with  weariness  and  shame ;  disgusted  with 
your  sports  and  with  your  existence.  Everybody,  everybody 
studies  now,  my  child.  Think  of  the  workmen  who  go  to 
school  in  the  evening  after  having  toiled  all  the  day ;  think 
of  the  women,  of  the  girls  of  the  people,  who  go  to  school 
on  Sunday,  after  having  worked  all  the  week;  of  the  sol- 
diers who  turn  to  their  books  and  copy-books  when  they 
return  exhausted  from  their  drill !  Think  of  the  dumb  and 
of  the  boys  who  are  blind,  but  who  study,  nevertheless ;  and 
last  of  all,  think  of  the  prisoners,  who  also  learn  to  read  and 
write.  Reflect  in  the  morning,  when  you  set  out,  that  at 
that  very  moment,  in  your  own  city,  thirty  thousand  other 


THE  LITTLE  PATRIOT  OF  PADUA.  17 

boys  are  going  like  yourself,  to  shut  themselves  up  in  a 
room  for  three  hours  and  study.  Think  of  the  innumerable 
boys  who,  at  nearly  this  precise  hour,  are  going  to  school  in 
all  countries.  Behold  them  -with  your  imagination,  going, 
going,  through  the  lanes  of  quiet  villages ;  through  the  streets 
of  the  noisy  towns,  along  the  shores  of  rivers  and  lakes ; 
here  beneath  a  burning  sun ;  there  amid  fogs,  in  boats,  in 
countries  which  are  intersected  with  canals ;  on  horseback 
on  the  far-reaching  plains ;  in  sledges  over  the  snow ;  through 
valleys  and  over  hills ;  across  forests  and  torrents,  over  the 
solitary  paths  of  mountains ;  alone,  in  couples,  in  groups,  in 
long  files,  all  with  their  books  under  their  arms,  clad  in  a 
thousand  ways,  speaking  a  thousand  tongues,  from  the  most 
remote  schools  in  Russia.  Almost  lost  in  the  ice  to  the  fur- 
thermost schools  of  Arabia,  shaded  by  palm-trees,  millions 
and  millions,  all  going  to  learn  the  same  things,  in  a  hun- 
dred varied  forms.  Imagine  this  vast,  vast  throng  of  boys 
of  a  hundred  races,  this  immense  movement  of  which  you 
form  a  part,  and  think,  if  this  movement  were  to  cease, 
humanity  would  fall  back  into  barbarism;  this  movement  is 
the  progress,  the  hope,  the  glory  of  the  world.  Coui-age, 
then,  little  soldier  of  the  immense  army.  Your  books  are 
your  arms,  your  class  is  your  squadron,  the  field  of  battle  is 
the  whole  earth,  and  the  victory  is  human  civilization.  Be 
not  a  cowardly  soldier,  my  Enrico. 

THY  FATHER. 


THE   LITTLE   PATRIOT   OF   PADUA. 

(The  Monthly  Story.) 

Saturday,  29th. 

I  will  not  be  a  cowardly  soldier,  no ;  but  I  should  be 
much  more  willing  to  go  to  school  if  the  master  would 
tell  us  a  story  every  day,  like  the  one  he  told  us  this 
morning.  "  Every  month,"  said  he,  "I  shall  tell  you 
one  ;  I  shall  give  it  to  you  in  writing,  and  it  will  always 
be  the  tale  of  a  fine  and  noble  deed  performed  by  a 


18  THE  LITTLE  PATRIOT  OF  PADUA. 

boy.  Tliis  one  is  called  TJie  Little  Patriot  of  Padua. 
Here  it  is.  A  French  steamer  set  out  from  Barce- 
lona, a  city  in  Spain,  for  Genoa ;  there  were  on  board 
Frenchmen,  Italians,  Spaniards,  and  Swiss.  Among 
the  rest  was  a  lad  of  eleven,  poorly  clad,  and  alone, 
who  always  held  himself  aloof,  like  a  wild  animal,  and 
stared  at  all  with  gloomy  eyes.  He  had  good  reasons 
for  looking  at  every  one  with  forbidding  eyes.  Two 
years  previous  to  this  time  his  parents,  peasants  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Padua,  had  sold  him  to  a  company  of 
mountebanks,  who,  after  they  had  taught  him  how  to 
perform  tricks,  by  dint  of  blows  and  kicks  and  starv- 
ing, had  carried  him  all  over  France  and  Spain,  beat- 
ing him  continually  and  never  giving  him  enough  to 
eat.  On  his  arrival  in  Barcelona,  being  no  longer  able 
to  endure  ill  treatment  and  hunger,  and  being  reduced 
to  a  pitiable  condition,  he  had  fled  from  his  slave-mas- 
ter and  had  betaken  himself  for  protection  to  the  Ital- 
ian consul,  who,  moved  with  compassion,  had  placed 
him  on  board  of  this  steamer,  and  had  given  him  a  letter 
to  the  treasurer  of  Genoa,  who  was  to  send  the  boy 
back  to  his  parents  —  to  the  parents  who  had  sold  him 
like  a  beast.  The  poor  lad  was  lacerated  and  weak. 
He  had  been  assigned  to  the  second-class  cabin. 
Every  one  stared  at  him  ;  some  questioned  him,  but  he 
made  no  reply,  and  seemed  to  hate  and  despise  every 
one,  to  such  an  extent  had  privation  and  affliction 
maddened  and  irritated  him.  Nevertheless,  three  trav- 
ellers, by  dint  of  persisting  in  their  questions,  suc- 
ceeded in  making  him  unloose  his  tongue  ;  and  in  a  few 
rough  words,  a  mixture  of  Venetian,  French,  and 
Spanish,  he  related  his  story.  These  three  travellers 
were  not  Italians,  but  they  understood  him  ;  and  partly 
out  of  compassion,  partly  because  they  were  excited 


THE  LITTLE  PATRIOT  OF  PADUA. —  Page  18. 


THE  LITTLE  PATRIOT  OF  PADUA.  19 

with  wine,  the}'  gave  him  soldi,  jesting  with  him  and 
urging  him  on  to  tell  them  other  things  ;  and  as  several 
ladies  entered  the  saloon  at  the  moment,  they  gave  him 
some  more  money  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  show, 
and  cried :  '  Take  this  !  Take  this,  too ! '  as  they 
made  the  money  rattle  on  the  table. 

"The  boy  pocketed  it  all,  thanking  them  in  a  low 
voice,  with  his  surly  mien,  but  with  a  look  that  was 
for  the  first  time  smiling  and  affectionate.  Then  he 
climbed  into  his  berth,  drew  the  curtain,  and  la}"  quiet, 
thinking  over  his  affairs.  With  this  money  he  would 
be  able  to  purchase  some  good  food  on  board,  after 
having  suffered  for  lack  of  bread  for  two  years  ;  he 
could  buy  a  jacket  as  soon  as  he  landed  in  Genoa, 
after  having  gone  about  clad  in  rags  for  two  years  ; 
and  he  could  also,  by  carrying  it  home,  insure  for 
himself  from  his  father  and  mother  a  more  humane 
reception  than  would  have  fallen  to  his  lot  if  he  had 
arrived  with  empty  pockets.  This  money  was  a  little 
fortune  for  him  ;  and  he  was  taking  comfort  out  of 
this  thought  behind  the  curtain  of  his  berth,  while  the 
three  travellers  chatted  away,  as  they  sat  round  the 
dining-table  in  the  second-class  saloon.  Thej-  were 
drinking  and  discussing  their  travels  and  the  countries 
which  they  had  seen  ;  and  from  one  topic  to  another 
they  began  to  discuss  Italy.  One  of  them  began  to 
complain  of  the  inns,  another  of  the  railways,  and 
then,  growing  warmer,  they  all  began  to  speak  evil 
of  everything.  One  would  have  preferred  a  trip  in 
Lapland ;  another  declared  that  he  had  found  nothing 
but  swindlers  and  brigands  in  Italy ;  the  third  said 
that  Italian  officials  do  not  know  how  to  read. 

"'It's  an  ignorant  nation,'  repeated  the  first.  'A 
filthy  nation,'  added  the  second.  '  Ro — '  exclaimed 


20  THE  CHIMNEY-SWEEP. 

the  third,  meaning  to  say  '  robbers ' ;  but  Tie  was  not 
allowed  to  finish  the  word  :  a  tempest  of  soldi  and 
half-lire ,  descended  upon  their  heads  and  shoulders, 
and  leaped  upon  the  table  and  the  floor  with  a  demoni- 
acal noise.  All  three  sprang  up  in  a  rage,  looked  up, 
and  received  another  handful  of  coppers  in  their  faces. 
"  'Take  back  your  soldi !'  said  the  lad,  disdainfully, 
thrusting  his  head  between  the  curtains  of  his  berth  ; 
'  I  do  not  accept  alms  from  those  who  insult  my 
country.' " 


THE   CHIMXEY-SVVEEP. 

November  1st. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I  went  to  the  girls'  school  build- 
ing, near  ours,  to  give  the  story  of  the  boy  from 
Padua  to  Silvia's  teacher,  who  wished  to  read  it. 
There  are  seven  hundred  girls  there.  Just  as  I  ar- 
rived, the}-  began  to  come  out,  all  greatly  rejoiced  at 
the  holiday  of  All  Saints  and  All  Souls  ;  and  here  is  a 
beautiful  thing  that  I  saw :  Opposite  the  door  of  the 
school,  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  stood  a  very 
small  chimney-sweep,  his  face  entirely  black,  with  his 
sack  and  scraper,  with  one  arm  resting  against  the 
wall,  and  his  head  supported  on  his  arm,  weeping 
copiously  and  sobbing.  Two  or  three  of  the  girls  of 
the  second  grade  approached  him  and  said,  "What  is 
the  matter,  that  you  weep  like  this?"  But  he  made  no 
reply,  and  went  on  crying. 

"  Come,  tell  us  what  is  the  matter  with  you  and  why 
you  are  crying,"  the  girls  repeated.  And  then  he 
raised  his  face  from  his  arm,  —  a  baby  face,  —  and 
said  through  his  tears  that  he  had  been  to  several 
houses  to  sweep  the  chimneys,  and  had  earned  thirty 


THE  CHIMNEY-SWEEP.  21 

soldi,  and  that  he  had  lost  them,  that  they  had  slipped 
through  a  hole  in  his  pocket,  —  and  he  showed  the 
hole,  —  and  he  did  not  dare  to  return  home  without 
the  mone\'. 

"  The  master  will  beat  me,"  he  said,  sobbing  ;  and 
again  dropped  his  head  upon  his  arm,  like  one  in 
despair.  The  children  stood  and  stared  at  him  very 
seriously.  In  the  meantime,  other  girls,  large  and 
small,  poor  girls  and  girls  of  the  upper  classes,  with 
their  portfolios  under  their  arms,  had  come  up ;  and 
one  large  girl,  who  had  a  blue  feather  in  her  hat,  pulled 
two  soldi  from  her  pocket,  and  said :  — 

"I  have  only  two  soldi;  let  us  make  a  collec- 
tion." 

"I  have  two  soldi,  also,"  said  another  girl,  dressed 
in  red  ;  "  we  shall  certainly  find  thirty  soldi  among  the 
whole  of  us  "  ;  and  then  they  began  to  call  out :  — 

' '  Amalia  !  Luigia  !  Anuina  !  —  A  soldo.  Who  has 
any  soldi  ?  Bring  your  soldi  here  !  " 

Several  had  soldi  to  buy  flowers  or  copy-books,  and 
they  brought  them ;  some  of  the  smaller  girls  gave 
centesimi ;  the  one  with  the  blue  feather  collected  all, 
and  counted  them  in  a  loud  voice  :  — 

"Eight,  ten,  fifteen!"  But  more  was  needed. 
Then  one  larger  than  any  of  them,  who  seemed  to 
be  an  assistant  mistress,  made  her  appearance,  and 
gave  half  a  lira ;  and  all  made  much  of  her.  Five 
soldi  were  still  lacking. 

"  The  girls  of  the  fourth  class  are  coming ;  they  will 
have  it,"  said  one  girl.  The  members  of  the  fourth 
class  came,  and  the  soldi  showered  down.  All  hur- 
ried foi-ward  eagerly  ;  and  it  was  beautiful  to  see  that 
poor  chimney-sweep  in  the  midst  of  all  those  many- 
colored  dresses,  of  all  that  whirl  of  feathers,  ribbons, 


22  THE  DAY  OF   THE  DEAD. 

and  curls .  The  thirty  soldi  were  already  obtained, 
and  more  kept  pouring  in  ;  and  the  very  smallest  who 
had  no  money  made  their  way  among  the  big  girls, 
and  offered  their  bunches  of  flowers,  for  the  sake  of 
giving  something.  All  at  once  the  portress  made  her 
appearance,  screaming :  — 

"The  Signora  Directress!"  The  girls  made  their 
escape  in  all  directions,  like  a  flock  of  sparrows  ;  and 
then  the  little  chimney-sweep  was  visible,  alone,  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  wiping  his  eyes  in  perfect  con- 
tent, with  his  hands  full  of  money,  and  the  button- 
holes of  his  jacket,  his  pockets,  his  hat,  were  full  of 
flowers  ;  and  there  were  even  flowers  on  the  ground  at 
his  feet. 

THE   DAY   OF   THE   DEAD. 

(A  ll-Souls-Day . ) 

November  2d. 

This  day  is  consecrated  to  the  commemoration  of  the 
dead.  Do  you  know,  Enrico,  that  all  you  boys  should,  on 
this  day,  devote  a  thought  to  those  who  are  dead  ?  To  those 
who  have  died  for  you,  —  for  boys  and  little  children.  How 
many  have  died,  and  how  many  are  dying  continually ! 
Have  you  ever  reflected  how  many  fathers  have  worn  out 
their  lives  in  toil  ?  how  many  mothers  have  descended  to  the 
grave  before  their  time,  exhausted  by  the  privations  to  which 
they  have  condemned  themselves  for  the  sake  of  sustaining 
their  children  ?  Do  you  know  how  many  men  have  planted 
a  knife  in  their  hearts  in  despair  at  beholding  their  children 
in  misery  ?  how  many  women  have  drowned  themselves  or 
have  died  of  sorrow,  or  have  gone  mad,  through  having  lost 
a  child  ?  Think  of  all  these  dead  on  this  day,  Enrico.  Think 
of  how  many  schoolmistresses  have  died  young,  have  pined 
away  through  the  fatigues  of  the  school,  through  love  of  the 
children,  from  whom  they  had  not  the  heart  to  tear  them- 


THE  DAY  OF   THE  DEAD.  23 

selves  away;  think  of  the  doctors  who  have  perkhed  of 
contagious  diseases,  having  courageously  sacrificed  them- 
selves to  cure  the  children ;  think  of  all  those  who  in 
shipwrecks,  in  conflagrations,  in  famines,  in  moments  of 
supreme  danger,  have  yielded  to  infancy  the  last  morsel  of 
bread,  the  last  place  of  safety,  the  last  rope  of  escape  from 
the  flames,  to  expire  content  with  their  sacrifice,  since  they 
preserved  the  life  of  a  little  innocent.  Such  dead  as  these 
are  innumerable,  Enrico ;  every  graveyard  contains  hun- 
dreds of  these  sainted  beings,  who,  if  they  could  rise  for  a 
moment  from  their  graves,  would  cry  the  name  of  a  child  to 
whom  they  sacrificed  the  pleasures  of  youth,  the  peace  of  old 
age,  their  affections,  their  intelligence,  their  life :  wives  of 
twenty,  men  in  the  flower  of  their  strength,  octogenarians, 
youths,  —  heroic  and  obscure  martyrs  of  infancy,  —  so  grand 
and  so  noble,  that  the  earth  does  not  produce  as  many  flowers 
as  should  strew  their  graves.  To  such  a  degree  are  ye  loved, 
O  children !  Think  to-day  on  those  dead  with  gratitude, 
and  you  will  be  kinder  and  more  affectionate  to  all  those 
who  love  you,  and  who  toil  for  you,  my  dear,  fortunate  son, 
who,  on  the  day  of  the  dead,  have,  as  yet,  no  one  to  grieve 
for. 

THY  MOTHER. 


24  MY  FRIEND   GARRONL. 


NOVEMBER. 


MY   FRIEXD   GARRONE. 

Friday,  4th. 

THERE  had  been  but  two  days  of  yacation,  yet  it 
seemed  to  me  as  though  I  had  been  a  long  time 
without  seeing  Garrone.  The  more  I  know  him,  the 
better  I  like  him  ;  and  so  it  is  with  all  the  rest,  except 
with  the  overbearing,  who  have  nothing  to  say  to  him, 
because  he  does  not  permit  them  to  exhibit  their  oppres- 
sion. Every  time  that  a  big  boy  raises  his  hand 
against  a  little  one,  the  little  one  shouts,  "  Garrone  !" 
and  the  big  one  stops  striking  him.  His  father  is  an 
engine-driver  on  the  railway  ;  he  has  begun  school  late, 
because  he  was  ill  for  two  years.  He  is  the  tallest 
and  the  strongest  of  the  class  ;  he  lifts  a  bench  with 
one  hand  ;  he  is  always  eating ;  and  he  is  good.  What- 
ever he  is  asked  for,  —  a  pencil,  rubber,  paper,  or  pen- 
knife, —  he  lends  or  gives  it ;  and  he  neither  talks  nor 
laughs  in  school :  he  always  sits  perfectly  motionless 
on  a  bench  that  is  too  narrow  for  him,  with  his  spine 
curved  forward,  and  his  big  head  between  his  shoulders  ; 
and  when  I  look  at  him,  he  smiles  at  me  with  his  eyes 
half  closed,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Well,  Enrico,  are  we 
friends?"  He  makes  me  laugh,  because,  tall  and 
broad  as  he  is,  he  has  a  jacket,  trousers,  and  sleeves 
which  are  too  small  for  him,  and  too  short ;  a  cap  which 
will  not  stay  on  his  head  ;  a  threadbare  cloak  ;  coarse 


MY  FRIEND   GARRONE.  25 

shoes  -,  and  a  necktie  which  is  always  twisted  into  a  cord. 
Dear  Garrone !  it  needs  but  one  glance  in  thy  face  to 
inspire  love  for  thee.  All  the  little  boys  would  like  -to 
be  near  his  bench.  He  knows  arithmetic  well.  He 
carries  his  books  bound  together  with  a  strap  of  red 
leather.  He  has  a  knife,  with  a  mother-of-pearl  han- 
dle, which  he  found  in  the  field  for  military  manoeu- 
vres, last  year,  and  one  day  he  cut  his  finger  to  the 
bone ;  but  no  one  in  school  envies  him  it,  and  no  one 
breathes  a  word  about  it  at  home,  for  fear  of  alarming 
his  parents.  He  lets  us  say  anything  to  him  in  jest, 
and  he  never  takes  it  ill ;  but  woe  to  any  one  who  says 
to  him,  "  That  is  not  true,"  when  he  affirms  a  thing : 
then  fire  flashes  from  his  eyes,  and  he  hammers  down 
blows  enough  to  split  the  bench.  Saturday  morning  he 
gave  a  soldo  to  one  of  the  upper  first  class,  who  was 
crying  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  because  his  own  had 
been  taken  from  him,  and  he  could  not  buy  his  copy- 
book. For  the  last  three  days  he  has  been  working 
over  a  letter  of  eight  pages,  with  pen  ornaments  on 
the  margins,  for  the  saint's  day  of  his  mother,  who 
often  comes  to  get  him,  and  who,  like  himself,  is  tall 
and  large  and  sympathetic.  The  master  is  always 
glancing  at  him,  and  every  time  that  he  passes  near 
him  he  taps  him  on  the  neck  with  his  hand,  as  though 
he  were  a  good,  peaceable  young  bull.  I  am  very  fond 
of  him.  I  am  happy  when  I  press  his  big  hand,  which 
seems  to  be  the  hand  of  a  man,  in  mine.  I  am 
almost  certain  that  he  would  risk  his  life  to  save  that 
of  a  comrade  ;  that  he  would  allow  himself  to  be  killed 
in  his  defence,  so  clearly  can  I  read  his  eyes ;  and  al- 
though he  alwa}-s  seems  to  be  grumbling  with  that  big 
voice  of  his,  one  feels  that  it  is  a  voice  that  comes  from 
a  gentle  heart. 


26         THE  CHARCOAL-MAN  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN. 

THE   CHARCOAL-MAX   AND   THE   GENTLEMAN. 

•  Monday,  7th. 

Garrone  would  certainly  never  have  uttered  the 
words  which  Cai'lo  Nobis  spoke  yesterday  morning  to 
Betti.  Carlo  Nobis  is  proud,  because  his  father  is  a 
great  gentleman  ;  a  tall  gentleman,  with  a  black  beard, 
and  very  serious,  who  accompanies  his  son  to  school 
neai'hj  every  day.  Yesterday  morning  Nobis  quar- 
relled with  Betti,  one  of  the  smallest  boys,  and  the  son 
of  a  charcoal-rnan,  and  not  knowing  what  retort  to 
make,  because  he  was  in  the  wrong,  said  to  him  vehe- 
mently, "Your  father  is  a  tattered  beggar!"  Betti 
reddened  up  to  his  very  hair,  and  said  nothing,  but  the 
tears  came  to  his  eyes  ;  and  when  he  returned  home, 
he  repeated  the  words  to  his  father ;  so  the  charcoal- 
dealer,  a  little  man,  who  was  black  all  over,  made  his 
appearance  at  the  afternoon  session,  leading  his  boy 
by  the  hand,  in  order  to  complain  to  the  master.  While 
he  was  making  his  complaint,  and  every  one  was  silent, 
the  father  of  Nobis,  who  was  taking  off  his  son's  coat 
at  the  entrance,  as  usual,  entered  on  hearing  his  name 
pronounced,  and  demanded  an  explanation. 

"This  workman  has  come,"  said  the  master,  "to 
complain  that  your  son  Carlo  said  to  his  boy,  '  Your 
father  is  a  tattered  beggar.'  " 

Nobis's  father  frowned  and  reddened  slightly.  Then 
he  asked  his  sou,  "Did  you  say  that?" 

His  son,  who  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
school,  with  his  head  hanging,  in  front  of  little  Betti, 
made  no  reply. 

Then  his  father  grasped  him  by  one  arm  and  pushed 
him  forward,  facing  Betti,  so  that  they  nearly  touched, 
and  said  to  him,  "  Beg  his  pardon." 


THE  CHARCOAL  MAN  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN.  —  Page  27. 


THE  CHARCOAL-MAN  AND  THE  GENTLEMAN.         27 

The  charcoal-inau  tried  to  interpose,  saying,  "  No, 
no ! "  but  the  gentleman  paid  no  heed  to  him,  and  re- 
peated to  his  son,  "  Beg  his  pardon.  Repeat  my 
words.  'I  beg  your  pardon  for  the  insulting.,  foolish, 
and  ignoble  words  which  I  uttered  against  your  father, 
whose  hand  my  father  would  feel  himself  honored  to 
press.'  ' 

The  charcoal-man  made  a  resolute  gesture,  as  though 
to  say,  "  I  will  not  allow  it."  The  gentleman  did  not 
second  him,  and  his  son  said  slowly,  in  a  very  thread  of 
a  voice,  without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  ground,  "I 
beg  your  pardon  —  for  the  insulting — foolish  —  igno- 
ble —  words  which  I  uttered  against  your  father, 
whose  hand  my  father  —  would  feel  himself  honored  — 
to  press." 

Then  the  gentleman  offered  his  hand  to  the  charcoal- 
man,  who  shook  it  vigorously,  and  then,  with  a  sudden 
push,  he  thrust  his  son  into  the  arms  of  Carlo  Nobis. 

"  Do  me  the  favor  to  place  them  next  each  other," 
said  the  gentleman  to  the  master.  The  master  put 
Betti  on  Nobis's  bench.  When  they  were  seated,  the 
father  of  Nobis  bowed  and  went  away. 

The  charcoal-man  remained  standing  there  in  thought 
for  several  moments,  gazing  at  the  two  boys  side  by 
side  ;  then  he  approached  the  bench,  and  fixed  upon 
Nobis  a  look  expressive  of  affection  and  regret,  as 
though  he  were  desirous  of  saying  something  to  him, 
but  he  did  not  say  anything  ;  he  stretched  out  his  hand 
to  bestow  a  caress  upon  him,  but  he  did  not  dare,  and 
merely  stroked  his  brow  with  his  large  fingers.  Then 
he  made  his  way  to  the  door,  and  turning  round  for 
one  last  look,  he  disappeared. 

"  Fix  what  you  have  just  see/i  firmly  in  your  minds, 
boys,"  said  the  master;  "this  is  the  finest  lesson  of 
the  year." 


28  MY  BROTHER'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 


MY  BROTHER'S   SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

Thursday,  10th. 

The  son  of  the  charcoal-man  had  been  a  pupil  of 
that  schoolmistress  Delcati  who  had  come  to  see  my 
brother  when  he  was  ill,  and  who  had  made  us  laugh 
by  telling  us  how,  two  3*ears  ago,  the  mother  of  this 
boy  had  brought  to  her  house  a  big  apronful  of  char- 
coal, out  of  gratitude  for  her  having  given  the  medal 
to  her  son  ;  and  the  poor  woman  had  persisted,  and 
had  not  been  willing  to  carry  the  coal  home  again,  and 
had  wept  when  she  was  obliged  to  go  away  with  her 
apron  quite  full.  And  she  told  us,  also,  of  another 
good  woman,  who  had  brought  her  a  very  heavy  bunch 
of  flowers,  inside  of  which  there  was  a  little  hoard  of 
soldi.  We  had  been  greatly  diverted  in  listening  to 
her,  and  so  m}'  brother  had  swallowed  his  medicine, 
which  he  had  not  been  willing  to  do  before.  How 
much  patience  is  necessary  with  those  boys  of  the 
lower  first,  all  toothless,  like  old  men,  who  cannot  pro- 
nounce their  r's  and  s's ;  and  one  coughs,  and  another 
has  the  nosebleed,  and  another  loses  his  shoes  under 
the  bench,  and  another  bellows  because  he  has  pricked 
himself  with  his  pen,  and  another  one  cries  because  he 
has  bought  copy-book  No.  2  instead  of  No.  1.  Fifty 
in  a  class,  who  know  nothing,  with  those  flabby  little 
hands,  and  all  of  them  must  be  taught  to  write ;  they 
oarry  in  their  pockets  bits  of  licorice,  buttons,  phial 
corks,  pounded  brick,  —  all  sorts  of  little  things,  and 
the  teacher  has  to  search  them  ;  but  the}'  conceal  these 
objects  even  in  their  shoes.  And  they  are  not  atten- 
tive :  a  fly  enters  through  the  window,  and  throws 
them  all  into  confusion  ;  and  in  summer  they  bring 


MY  BROTHER'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  29 

grass  into  school,  and  horn-bugs,  which  fly  round  in 
circles  or  fall  into  the  inkstand,  and  then  streak  the 
copy-books  all  over  with  ink.  The  schoolmistress  has 
to  play  mother  to  all  of  them,  to  help  them  dress  them- 
selves, bandage  up  their  pricked  fingers,  pick  up  their 
caps  when  they  drop  them,  watch  to  see  that  they  do 
not  exchange  coats,  and  that  they  do  not  indulge  in 
cat-calls  and  shrieks.  Poor  schoolmistresses !  And 
then  the  mothers  cornp.  to  complain  :  ' '  How  comes  it, 
signorina,  that  my  boy  has  lost  his  pen  ?  How  does  it 
happen  that  mine  learns  nothing?  Why  is  not  my  boy 
mentioned  honorably,  when  he  knows  so  much  ?  Why 
don't  you  have  that  nz.il  which  tore  my  Piero's  trou- 
sers, taken  out  of  the  bench  ?  " 

Sometimes  my  brother's  teacher  gets  into  a  rage 
with  the  boys  ;  and  when  she  can  resist  no  longer,  she 
bites  her  finger,  to  keep  herself  from  dealing  a  blow ; 
she  loses  patience,  and  then  she  repents,  and  caresses 
the  child  whom  she  has  scolded ;  she  sends  a  little 
rogue  out  of  school,  and  then  swallows  her  tears,  and 
flies  into  a  rage  with  parents  who  make  the  little  ones 
fast  by  way  of  punishment.  Schoolmistress  Delcati 
is  young  and  tall,  well-dressed,  brown  of  complexion, 
and  restless  ;  she  does  everything  vivaciously,  as  though 
on  springs,  is  affected  by  a  mere  trifle,  and  at  such 
times  speaks  with  great  tenderness. 

"  But  the  children  become  attached  to  you,  surely," 
my  mother  said  to  her. 

"  Many  do,"  she  replied  ;  "•  but  at  the  end  of  the  year 
the  majority  of  them  pay  no  further  heed  to  us.  When 
they  are  with  the  masters,  they  are  almost  ashamed  of 
having  been  with  us  —  with  a  woman  teacher.  After 
two  years  of  cares,  after  having  loved  a  child  so  much, 
it  makes  us  feel  sad  to  part  from  him ;  but  we  say  to 


30  MY  MOTHER. 

ourselves,  '  Oh,  I  am  sure  of  that  one  ;  he  is  fond  of 
me.'  But  the  vacation  over,  he  comes  back  to  school. 
I  run  to  meet  him  ;  '  Oh,  my  child,  my  child  ! '  And 
he  turns  his  head  awaj"."  Here  the  teacher  interrupted 
herself.  "But  you  will  not  do  so,  little  one?"  she 
said,  raising  her  humid  eyes,  and  kissing  my  brother. 
"You  will  rot  turn  aside  your  head,  will  you?  You 
will  not  deny  your  poor  friend  ? " 


MY  MOTHER. 

Thursday,  November  10th. 

In  the  presence  of  your  brother's  teacher  you  failed  in 
respect  to  your  mother !  Let  this  never  happen  again,  my 
Enrico,  never  again !  Your  irreverent  word  pierced  my 
heart  like  a  point  of  steel.  I  thought  of  your  mother  when, 
years  ago,  she  bent  the  whole  of  one  night  over  your  little 
bed,  measuring  your  breathing,  weeping  blood  in  her  an- 
guish, and  with  her  teeth  chattering  with  terror,  because  she 
thought  that  she  had  lost  you,  and  I  feared  that  she  would 
lose  her  reason ;  and  at  this  thought  I  felt  a  sentiment  of 
horror  at  you.  You,  to  offend  your  mother !  your  mother, 
who  would  give  a  year  of  happiness  to  spare  you  one  hour  of 
pain,  who  would  beg  for  you,  who  would  allow  herself  to  be 
killed  to  save  your  life !  Listen,  Enrico.  Fix  this  thought 
well  in  your  mind.  Reflect  that  you  are  destined  to  experi- 
ence many  terrible  days  in  the  course  of  your  life  :  the  most 
terrible  will  be  that  on  which  you  lose  your  mother.  A 
thousand  times,  Enrico,  after  you  are  a  man,  strong,  and  in- 
ured to  all  fates,  you  will  invoke  her,  oppressed  with  an  in- 
tense desire  to  hear  her  voice,  if  but  for  a  moment,  and  to  see 
once  more  her  open  arms,  into  which  you  can  throw  yourself 
sobbing,  like  a  poor  child  bereft  of  comfort  and  protection. 
How  you  will  then  recall  every  bitterness  that  you  have 
caused  her,  and  with  what  remorse  you  will  pay  for  all,  un- 
happy wretch  !  Hope  for  no  peace  in  your  life,  if  you  have 


MY  COMPANION  CORETTI.  31 

caused  your  mother  grief.  You  will  repent,  you  will  beg  her 
forgiveness,  you  will  venerate  her  memory  —  in  vain;  con- 
science will  give  you  no  rest;  that  sweet  ^  and  gentle  image 
will  always  wear  for  you  an  expression  of  sadness  and  of  re- 
proach which  will  put  your  soul  to  torture.  Oh,  Enrico,  be- 
ware; this  is  the  most  sacred  of  human  affections;  unhappy 
he  who  tramples  it  under  foot.  The  assassin  who  respects 
his  mother  has  still  something  honest  and  noble  in  his  heart; 
the  most  glorious  of  men  who  grieves  and  offends  her  is  but  a 
vile  creature.  Never  again  let  a  harsh  word  issue  from  your 
lips,  for  the  being  who  gave  you  life.  And  if  one  should 
ever  escape  you,  let  it  not  be  the  fear  of  your  father,  but  let 
it  be  the  impulse  of  your  soul,  which"  casts  you  at  her  feet, 
to  beseech  her  that  she  will  cancel  from  your  brow,  with  the 
kiss  of  forgiveness,  the  stain  of  ingratitude.  I  love  you,  my 
son ;  you  are  the  dearest  hope  of  my  life ;  but  I  would  rather 
see  you  dead  than  ungrateful  to  your  mother.  Go  away,  for 
a  little  space ;  offer  me  no  more  of  your  caresses ;  I  should 
not  be  able  to  return  them  from  my  heart. 


MY  COMPANION   CORETTI. 

Sunday,  73th. 

My  father  forgave  me ;  but  I  remained  rather  sad ; 
and  then  my  mother  seat  me,  with  the  porter's  big 
son,  to  take  a  walk  on  the  Corso.  Half-way  down  the 
Corso,  as  we  were  passing  a  cart  which  was  standing 
in  front  of  a  shop,  I  heard  some  one  call  me  by  name  : 
I  turned  round ;  it  was  Coretti,  my  schoolmate,  with 
chocolate-colored  clothes  and  his  catskin  cap,  all  in  a 
perspiration,  but  merry,  with  a  big  load  of  wood  on 
his  shoulders.  A  man  who  was  standing  in  the  cart 
was  handing  him  an  armful  of  wood  at  a  time,  which 
he  took  and  carried  into  his  father's  shop,  where  he 
piled  it  up  in  the  greatest  haste. 


32  MY  COMPANION  CORETTI. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Coretti?"  I  asked  him. 

"Don't  you  see?"  he  answered,  reaching  out  his 
arms  to  receive,  the  load;  "I  am  reviewing  my 
lesson." 

I  laughed ;  but  he  seemed  to  be  serious,  and,  having 
grasped  the  armful  of  wood,  he  began  to  repeat  as  he 
ran,  "  The  conjugation  of  the  verb  —  consists  in  its  vari- 
ations according  to  number  —  according  to  number  and 
person  —  " 

And  then,  throwing  down  the  wood  and  piling  it, 
"  according  to  the  time  — according  to  the  time  to  which 
the  action  refers." 

And  turning  to  the  cart  for  another  armful,  "  ac- 
cording to  the  mode  in  ivhich  the  action  is  enunciated." 

It  was  our  grammar  lesson  for  the  following  day. 
"What  would  you  have  me  do?"  he  said.  "I  am 
putting  my  time  to  use.  My  father  has  gone  off  with 
the  man  on  business  ;  my  mother  is  ill.  It  falls  to  me 
to  do  the  unloading.  In  the  meantime,  I  am  going 
over  my  grammar  lesson.  It  is  a  difficult  lesson  to- 
day ;  I  cannot  succeed  in  getting  it  into  my  head.  — 
My  father  said  that  he  would  be  here  at  seven  o'clock 
to  give  you  your  money,"  he  said  to  the  man  with  the 
cart. 

The  cart  drove  off.  "  Come  into  the  shop  a  minute," 
Coretti  said  to  me.  I  went  in.  It  was  a  large  apart- 
ment, full  of  piles  of  wood  and  fagots,  with  a  steel- 
yard on  one  side. 

"  This  is  a  bus}'  da}*,  I  can  assure  you,"  resumed 
Coretti ;  "  I  have  to  do  my  work  by  fits  and  starts.  I 
was  writing  my  phrases,  when  some  customers  came 
in.  I  went  to  writing  again,  and  behold,  that  cart 
arrived.  I  have  already  made  two  trips  to  the  wood 
market  in  the  Piazza  Venezia  this  morning.  My  legs 


MY  COMPANION  CORETTI.  33 

are  so  tired  that  I  cannot  stand,  and  my  hands  are  all 
swollen.  I  should  be  in  a  pretty  pickle  if  I  had  to 
draw  !  "  And  as  he  spoke  he  set  ah,out  sweeping  up 
the  dry  leaves  and  the  straw  which  covered  the  brick- 
paved  floor. 

"But  where  do  you  do  your  work,  Coretti?"  I 
inquired. 

"  Not  here,  certainty,"  he  replied.  "  Come  and 
see " ;  and  he  led  me  into  a  little  room  behind  the 
shop,  which  serves  as  a  kitchen  and  dining-room,  with 
a  table  in  one  corner,  on  which  there  were  books  ana 
copy-books,  and  work  which  had  been  begun.  "Here 
it  is,"  he  said  ;  "  I  left  the  second  answer  unfinished : 
with  which  shoes  are  made,  and  belts.  Now  I  will  ada, 
and  valises."  And,  taking  his  pen,  he  began  to  write 
in  his  fine  hand. 

"  Is  there  any  one  here?"  sounded  a  call  from  the 
shop  at  that  moment.  It  was  a  woman  who  had  come 
to  buy  some  little  fagots. 

"  Here  I  am  !"  replied  Coretti ;  and  he  sprang  out, 
weighed  the  fagots,  took  the  money,  ran  to  a  corner  to 
enter  the  sale  in  a  shabby  old  account-book,  and  re- 
turned to  his  work,  saying,  "  Let's  see  if  I  can  finish 
that  sentence."  And  he  wrote,  travelling-bags,  and 
knapsacks  for  soldiers.  "•  Oh,  my  poor  coffee  is  boiling 
over !"  he  exclaimed,  and  ran  to  the  stove  to  take  the 
coffee-pot  from  the  fire.  "It  is  coffee  for  mamma," 
he  said ;  "I  had  to  learn  how  to  make  it.  Wait 
a  while,  and  we  will  carry  it  to  her ;  you'll  see  what 
pleasure  it  will  give  her.  She  has  been  in  bed  a  whole 
week. — Conjugation  of  the  verb !  I  always  scald  my 
fingers  with  this  coffee-pot.  What  is  there  that  I  can 
add  after  the  soldiers'  knapsacks?  Something  more 
is  needed,  and  I  can  think  of  nothing.  Come  to 
nuimma." 


34  MY  COMPANION    CORETTI. 

He  opened  a  door,  and  we  entered  another  small 
room  :  there  Coretti's  mother  lay  in  a  big  bed,  with  a 
white  kerchief  wound  round  her  head. 

"  Ah,  brave  little  master !"  said  the  woman  to  me  ; 
"you  have  come  to  visit  the  sick,  have  you  not?  " 

Meanwhile,  Coretti  was  arranging  the  pillows  be- 
hind his  mother's  back,  readjusting  the  bedclothes, 
brightening  up  the  fire,  and  driving  the  cat  off  the 
chest  of  drawers. 

"Do  you  want  anything  else,  mamma?"  he  asked, 
as  he  took  the  cup  from  her.  "  Have  you  taken  the 
two  spoonfuls  of  syrup?  When  it  is  all  gone,  I  will 
make  a  trip  to  the  apothecary's.  The  wood  is  un- 
loaded. At  four  o'clock  I  will  put  the  meat  on  the 
stove,  as  you  told  me  ;  and  when  the  butter-woman 
passes,  I  will  give  her  those  eight  soldi.  Everything 
will  go  on  well ;  so  don't  give  it  a  thought." 

"Thanks,  my  son  !  "  replied  the  woman.  "Go,  niy 
poor  boy  !  — he  thinks  of  everything." 

She  insisted  that  I  should  take  a  lump  of  sugar  ;  and 
then  Coretti  showed  me  a  little  picture,  —  the  photo- 
graph portrait  of  his  father  dressed  as  a  soldier,  with 
the  medal  for  bravery  which  he  had  won  in  1866, 
in  the  troop  of  Prince  Umberto  :  he  had  the  same  face 
as  his  son,  with  the  same  vivacious  eyes  and  his  merry 
smile. 

We  went  back  to  the  kitchen.  "  I  have  found  the 
thing,"  said  Coretti ;  and  he  added  on  his  copy-book, 
horse-trappings  are  also  made  of  it.  ' '  The  rest  I  will 
do  this  evening;  I  shall  sit  up  later.  How  happy  you 
are,  to  have  time  to  study  and  to  go  to  walk,  too ! " 
And  still  gay  and  active,  he  re-entered  the  shop,  and 
began  to  place  pieces  of  wood  on  the  horse  and  to  saw 
them,  saying  :  "  This  is  gymnastics  :  it  is  quite  differ- 


THE  HEAD-MASTER.  35 

ent  from  the  throw  your  arms- forwards.  I  want  my 
father  to  find  all  this  wood  sawed  when  he  gets  home  ; 
how  glad  he  will  be  !  The  worst  part  of  it  is  that  after 
sawing  I  make  T's  and  L's  which  look  like  snakes,  so 
the  teacher  says.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  I  will  tell  him 
that  I  have  to  move  my  arms  about.  The  important 
thing  is  to  have  mamma  get  well  quickly.  She  is 
better  to-day,  thank  Heaven !  I  will  study  my  gram- 
mar to-morrow  morning  at  cock-crow.  Oh,  here's  the 
cart  with  logs  !  To  work  !  " 

A  small  cart  laden  with  logs  halted  in  front  of  the 
shop.  Coretti  ran  out  to  speak  to  the  man,  then  re- 
turned:  "I  cannot  keep  your  company  any  longer 
now,"  he  said;  "farewell  until  to-morrow.  You  did 
right  to  come  and  hunt  me  up.  A  pleasant  walk  to 
you  !  happy  fellow  !  " 

And  pressing  my  hand,  he  ran  to  take  the  first  log, 
and  began  once  more  to  trot  back  and  forth  between 
the  cart  and  the  shop,  with  a  face  as  fresh  as  a  rose 
beneath  his  catskin  cap,  and  so  alert  that  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  see  him. 

"  Happy  fellow !  "  he  had  said  to  me.  Ah,  no,  Cor- 
etti, no ;  you  are  the  happier,  because  you  study  and 
work  too ;  because  you  are  of  use  to  your  father  and 
your  mother ;  because  you  are  better  —  a  hundred 
times  better — and  more  courageous  than  I,  my  dear 
schoolmate. 


THE  HEAD-MASTER. 

Friday,  18th. 

Coretti  was  pleased  this  morning,  because  his  master 
of  the  second  class,  Coatti,  a  big  man,  with  a  huge  head 
of  curly  hair,  a  great  black  beard,  big  dark  eyes,  and 


36  THE  HEAD-MASTER. 

a  voice  like  a  cannon,  had  come  to  assist  in  the  work 
of  the  monthly  examination.  He  is  always  threatening 
the  boys  that  he  will  break  them  in  pieces  and  cany 
them  by  the  nape  of  the  neck  to  the  quaestor,  and  he 
makes  all  sorts  of  frightful  faces ;  but  he  never  pun- 
ishes any  one,  but  always  smiles  the  while  behind  his 
beard,  so  that  no  one  can  see  it.  There  are  eight  mas- 
ters in  all,  including  Coatti,  and  a  little,  beardless 
assistant,  who  looks  like  a  boy.  There  is  one  master 
of  the  fourth  class,  who  is  lame  and  alwa}"s  wrapped  up 
in  a  big  woollen  scarf,  and  who  is  always  suffering  from 
pains  which  he  contracted  when  he  was  a  teacher  in  the 
country,  in  a  damp  school,  where  the  walls  were  dripping 
with  moisture.  Another  of  the  teachers  of  the  fourth 
ia  old  and  perfectly  white-haired,  and  has  been  a 
teacher  of  the  blind.  There  is  one  well-dressed  master, 
with  eye-glasses,  and  a  blond  mustache,  who  is  called 
the  little  lawyer,  because,  while  he  was  teaching,  he 
studied  law  and  took  his  diploma  ;  and  he  is  also  making 
a  book  to  teach  how  to  write  letters.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  one  who  teaches  gymnastics  is  of  a  soldierly 
type,  and  was  with  Garibaldi,  and  has  on  his  neck  a 
scar  from  a  sabre  wound  received  at  the  battle  of 
Milazzo.  Then  there  is  the  head-master,  who  is  tall 
and  bald,  and  wears  gold  spectacles,  with  a  gray  beard 
that  flows  down  upon  his  breast ;  he  dresses  entirely  in 
black,  and  is  always  buttoned  up  to  the  chin.  He  is  so 
kind  to  the  boys,  that  when  they  enter  the  director's 
room,  all  in  a  tremble,  because  they  have  been  sum- 
moned to  receive  a  reproof,  he  does  not  scold  them,  but 
takes  them  by  the  hand,  and  tells  them  so  many  reasons 
why  they  ought  not  to  behave  so,  and  why  they  should 
be  sorry,  and  promise  to  be  good,  and  he  speaks  in  such 
a  kind  manner,  and  in  so  gentle  a  voice,  that  they  all 


THE  HEAD-MASTER.  37 

come  out  with  red  eyes,  more  confused  than  if  they  had 
been  punished.  Poor  head-master !  he  is  always  the 
first  at  his  post  in  the  morning,  waiting  for  the  scholars 
and  lending  an  ear  to  the  parents ;  and  when  the  other 
masters  are  already  on  their  way  home,  he  is  sti21  hov- 
ering about  the  school,  and  looking  out  that  the  boys  do 
not  get  under  the  carriage-wheels,  or  hang  about  the 
streets  to  stand  on  their  heads,  or  fill  their  bags  with 
sand  or  stones  ;  and  the  moment  he  makes  his  appear- 
ance at  a  corner,  so  tall  and  black,  flocks  of  boys 
scamper  off  in  all  directions,  abandoning  their  games  of 
coppers  and  marbles,  and  he  threatens  them  from  afar 
with  his  forefinger,  with  his  sad  and  loving  air.  No 
one  has  ever  seen  him  smile,  my  mother  says,  since  the 
death  of  bis  sou,  who  was  a  volunteer  in  the  army  :  he 
always  keeps  the  latter 's  portrait  before  his  eyes,  on  a 
little  table  it  the  head-master's  room.  He  waiited  to  go 
away  after  this  misfortune  ;  he  prepared  bis  application 
for  retirement  to  the  Municipal  Council,  and  kept  it 
always  on  his  table,  putting  off  sending  H  from  day  to 
day,  because  it  grieved  him  to  leave  the  boys.  But  the 
other  day  he  seemed  undecided ;  and  my  father,  who 
was  in  the  director's  room  with  him,  was  just  sa}"ing  to 
him,  "  What  a  shame  it  is  that  you  are  going  away, 
Signor  Director !  "  when  a  man  entered  for  the  purpose 
of  inscribing  the  name  of  a  boy  who  was  to  be  trans- 
ferred from  another  schoolhouse  to  ours,  because  he 
had  changed  his  residence.  At  the  sight  of  this  boy, 
the  head-master  made  a  gesture  of  astonishment, 
gazed  at  him  for  a  while,  gazed  at  the  portrait  that  he 
keeps  on  his  little  table,  and  then  stared  at  the  boy 
again,  as  he  drew  him  between  his  knees,  and  made  him 
hold  up  his  head.  This  boy  resembled  his  dead  son. 
The  head-master  said,  "  It  is  all  right,"  wrote  down 


38  THE  SOLDIERS. 

his  name,  dismissed  the  father  and  son,  and  remained 
absorbed  in  thought.  "  What  a  pity  that  you  are  going 
away ! "  repeated  my  father.  And  then  the  head- 
master took  up  his  application  for  retirement,  tore  it  in 
two,  and  said,  "  I  shall  remain." 


THE   SOLDIERS. 

Tuesday,  22d. 

His  son  had  been  a  volunteer  in  the  army  when  he 
died :  this  is  the  reason  why  the  head-master  always 
goes  to  the  Corso  to  see  the  soldiers  pass,  when  we 
come  out  of  school.  Yesterda}'  a  regiment  of  infantry 
was  passing,  and  fifty  boys  began  to  dance  around  the 
band,  singing  and  beating  time  with  their  rulers  on  their 
bags  and  portfolios.  We  were  standing  in  a  group  on 
the  sidewalk,  watching  them :  Garrone,  squeezed  into 
his  clothes,  which  were  too  tight  for  him,  was  biting  at 
a  large  piece  of  bread ;  Votini,  the  well-dressed  boy, 
who  always  wears  Florence  plush ;  Precossi,  the  son  of 
the  blacksmith,  with  his  father's  jacket ;  and  the  Cala- 
brian  ;  and  the  "little  mason";  and  Crossi,  with  his 
red  head  ;  and  Franti,  with  his  bold  face  ;  and  Robetti, 
too,  the  son  of  the  artillery  captain,  the  boy  who  saved 
the  child  from  the  omnibus,  and  who  now  walks  on 
crutches.  Franti  burst  into  a  derisive  laugh,  in  the 
face  of  a  soldier  who  was  limping.  But  all  at  once  he 
felt  a  man's  hand  on  his  shoulder :  he  turned  round  ;  it 
was  the  head-master.  "Take  care,"  said  the  master 
to  him  ;  "  jeering  at  a  soldier  when  he  is  in  the  ranks, 
when  he  can  neither  avenge  himself  nor  reply,  is  like 
insulting  a  man  who  is  bound  :  it  is  baseness." 

Franti  disappeared.  The  soldiers  were  marching  by 
fours,  all  perspiring  and  covered  with  dust,  and  their 


THE  SOLDIER*.  39 

guns  were  gleaming  in  the  sun.  The  head-master 
said :  — 

"You  ought  to  feel  kindly  towards  soldiers,  boys. 
The}-  are  our  defenders,  who  would  go  to  be  killed  for 
our  sakes,  if  a  foreign  army  were  to  menace  our  country 
to-morrow.  They  are  boys  too ;  they  are  not  many 
years  older  than  you  ;  and  they,  too,  go  to  school ;  and 
there  are  poor  men  and  gentlemen  among  them,  just  as 
there  are  among  you,  and  they  come  from  every  part  of 
Italy.  See  if  you  cannot  recognize  them  by  their  faces  ; 
Sicilians  are  passing,  and  Sardinians,  and  Neapolitans, 
and  Lombards.  This  is  an  old  regiment,  one  of  those 
which  fought  in  1848.  They  are  not  the  same  soldiers, 
but  the  flag  is  still  the  same.  How  many  have  already 
died  for  our  country  around  that  banner  twenty  years 
before  you  were  born  !  " 

"  Here  it  is  !  "  said  Garrone.  And  in  fact,  not  far 
off,  the  flag  was  visible,  advancing,  above  the  heads  of 
the  soldiers. 

"Do  one  thing,  my  sons,"  said  the  head-master; 
"make  your  scholar's  salute,  with  your  hand  to  your 
brow,  when  the  tricolor  passes." 

The  flag,  borne  by  an  officer,  passed  before  us,  all 
tattered  and  faded,  and  with  the  medals  attached  to  the 
staff.  We  put  our  hands  to  our  foreheads,  all  together. 
The  officer  looked  at  us  with  a  smile,  and  returned  our 
salute  with  his  hand. 

"  Bravi,  boys!"  said  some  one  behind  us.  We 
turned  to  look  ;  it  was  an  old  man  who  wore  in  his  but- 
ton-hole the  blue  ribbon  of  the  Crimean  campaign  —  a 
pensioned  officer.  "Bravi !  "  he  said  ;  "  you  have  done 
a  fine  deed." 

In  the  meantime,  the  band  of  the  regiment  had  made 
a  turn  at  the  end  of  the  Corso,  surrounded  by  a  throng 


40  NELLI'S  PROTECTOR. 

of  boys,  and  a  hundred  merry  shouts  accompanied  the 
blasts  of  the  trumpets,  like  a  war-song. 

"  Bravi !  "  repeated  the  old  officer,  as  he  gazed  upon 
us;  "he  who  respects  the  flag  when  he  is  little  will 
know  how  to  defend  it  when  he  is  grown  up." 


NELLI'S   PROTECTOR. 

Wednesday,  23d. 

Nelli,  too,  poor  little  hunchback !  was  looking  at  the 
soldiers  yesterday,  but  with  an  air  as  though  he  were 
thinking,  "I  can  never  be  a  soldier!"  He  is  good, 
and  he  studies  ;  but  he  is  so  puny  and  wan,  and  he 
breathes  with  difficulty.  He  always  wears  a  long  apron 
of  shining  black  cloth.  His  mother  is  a  little  blond 
woman  who  dresses  in  black,  and  always  comes  to  get 
him  at  the  end  of  school,  so  that  he  may  not  come  out 
in  the  confusion  with  the  others,  and  she  caresses  him. 
At  first  many  of  the  boys  ridiculed  him,  and  thumped 
him  on  the  back  with  their  bags,  because  he  is  so  un- 
fortunate as  to  be  a  hunchback ;  but  he  never  offered 
any  resistance,  and  never  said  anything  to  his  mother, 
in  order  not  to  give  her  the  pain  of  knowing  that  her 
son  was  the  laughing-stock  of  his  companions  :  they 
derided  him,  and  he  held  his  peace  and  wept,  with  his 
head  laid  against  the  bench. 

But  one  morning  Garrone  jumped  up  and  said, 
"The  first  person  who  touches  Nelli  will  get  such  a 
box  on  the  ear  from  me  that  he  will  spin  round  three 
times ! " 

Franti  paid  no  attention  to  him  ;  the  box  on  the  ear 
was  delivered  :  the  fellow  spun  round  three  times,  and 
from  that  time  forth  no  one  ever  touched  Nelli  again. 


NELLI'S  PROTECTOR.  41 

The  master  placed  Garrone  near  him,  on  the  same 
bench.  They  have  become  friends.  Nelli  has  grown 
very  fond  of  Garrone.  As  soon  as  he  enters  the 
schoolroom  he  looks  to  see  if  Garrone  is  there.  He 
never  goes  away  without  saying,  "  Good  b}',  Gar- 
rone," and  Garrone  does  the  same  with  him. 

When  Nelli  drops  a  pen  or  a  book  under  the  bench, 
Garrone  stoops  quickly,  to  prevent  his  stooping  and 
tiring  himself,  and  hands  him  his  book  or  his  pen,  and 
then  he  helps  him  to  put  his  things  in  his  bag  and  to 
twist  himself  into  his  coat.  For  this  Nelli  loves  him, 
and  gazes  at  him  constantly  ;  and  when  the  master 
praises  Garrone  he  is  pleased,  as  though  he  had  been 
praised  himself.  Nelli  must  at  last  have  told  his 
mother  all  about  the  ridicule  of  the  early  days,  and 
what  they  made  him  suffer ;  and  about  the  comrade 
who  defended  him,  and  how  he  had  grown  fond  of  the 
latter ;  for  this  is  what  happened  this  morning.  The 
master  had  sent  me  to  carry  to  the  director,  half  an 
hour  before  the  close  of  school,  a  programme  of  the 
lesson,  and  I  entered  the  office  at  the  same  moment 
with  a  small  blond  woman  dressed  in  black,  the 
mother  of  Nelli,  who  said,  "  Signor  Director,  is  there 
in  the  class  with  my  son  a  bo}'  named  Garrone  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  head-master. 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  let  him  come  here 
for  a  moment,  as  I  have  a  word  to  say  to  him  ?  " 

The  head-master  called  the  beadle  and  sent  him  to 
the  school,  and  after  a  minute  Garrone  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  with  his  big,  close-cropped  head,  in  perfect 
amazement.  No  sooner  did  she  catch  sight  of  him 
than  the  woman  flew  to  meet  him,  threw  her  arms  on 
his  shoulders,  and  kissed  him  a  great  many  times  on 
the  head,  saying  :  — 


42  THE  HEAD   OF  THE  CLASS. 

"You  are  Garrone,  the  friend  of  my  little  son,  the 
protector  of  my  poor  child ;  it  is  you,  my  dear,  brave 
boy  ;  it  is  you  !  "  Then  she  searched  hastily  in  all  her 
pockets,  and  in  her  purse,  and  finding  nothing,  she  de- 
tached a  chain  from  her  neck,  with  a  small  cross,  and 
put  it  on  Garrone's  neck,  underneath  his  necktie,  and 
said  to  him  :  — 

"  Take  it !  wear  it  in  memory  of  me,  my  dear  boy  ; 
in  memory  of  Nelli's  mother,  who  thanks  and  blesses 
you." 


THE   HEAD  OF   THE   CLASS. 

Friday,  25th. 

Garrone  attracts  the  love  of  all ;  Derossi,  the  admi- 
ration. He  has  taken  the  first  medal;  he  will  always 
be  the  first,  and  this  year  also  ;  no  one  can  compete 
with  him  ;  all  recognize  his  superiority  in  all  points. 
He  is  the  first  in  arithmetic,  in  grammar,  in  composi- 
tion, in  drawing ;  he  understands  everything  on  the 
instant ;  he  lias  a  marvellous  memory  ;  he  succeeds  in 
everything  without  effort ;  it  seems  as  though  study 
were  play  to  him.  The  teacher  said  to  him  yester- 
day :  — 

"  You  have  received  great  gifts  from  God  ;  all  you 
have  to  do  is  not  to  squander  them."  He  is,  moreover, 
tall  and  handsome,  with  a  great  crown  of  golden  curls  ; 
he  is  so  nimble  that  he  can  leap  over  a  bench  by  rest- 
ing one  hand  on  it ;  and  he  already  understands  fenc- 
ing. He  is  twelve  years  old,  and  the  son  of  a  merchant ; 
he  is  always  dressed  in  blue,  with  gilt  buttons ;  he  is 
always  lively,  merry,  gracious  to  all,  and  helps  all  he 
can  in  examinations  ;  and  no  one  has  ever  dared  to  do 
anything  disagreeable  to  him,  or  to  say  a  rough  word 


THE  HEAD   OF   THE  CLASS.  43 

to  him.  Nobis  and  Frauti  alone  look  askance  at  him, 
and  Votini  darts  envy  from  his  eyes  ;  but  he  does  not 
even  perceive  it.  All  smile  at  him,  and  take  his  hand 
or  his  arm,  when  he  goes  about,  in  his  graceful  way,  to 
collect  the  work.  He  gives  away  illustrated  papers, 
drawings,  everything  that  is  given  him  at  home  ;  he 
has  made  a  little  geographical  chart  of  Calabria  for  the 
Calabrian  lad  ;  and  he  gives  everything  with  a  smile, 
without  paying  any  heed  to  it,  like  a  grand  gentleman, 
and  without  favoritism  for  any  one.  It  is  impossible 
not?  to  envy  him,  not  to  feel  smaller  than  he  in  every- 
thing. Ah  !  I,  too,  envy  him,  like  Votini.  And  I  feel 
a  bitterness,  almost  a  certain  scorn,  for  him,  sometimes, 
when  I  am  striving  to  accomplish  my  work  at  home, 
and  think  that  he  has  already  finished  his,  at  this  same 
moment,  extremely  well,  and  without  fatigue.  But 
then,  when  I  return  to  school,  and  behold  him  so  hand- 
some, so  smiling  and  triumphant,  and  hear  how  frankly 
and  confidently  he  replies  to  the  master's  questions, 
and  how  courteous  he  is,  and  how  the  others  all  like 
him,  then  all  bitterness,  all  scorn,  departs  from  my 
heart,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  having  experienced  these 
sentiments.  I  should  like  to  be  always  near  him  at 
such  times  ;  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  do  all  my 
school  tasks  with  him :  his  presence,  his  voice,  inspire 
me  with  courage,  with  a  will  to  work,  with  cheerful- 
ness and  pleasure. 

The  teacher  has  given  him  the  monthly  story,  which 
will  be  read  to-morrow,  to  copy, — The  Little  Vidette  of 
Lombardy.  He  copied  it  this  morning,  and  was  so 
much  affected  by  that  heroic  deed,  that  his  face  was  all 
aflame,  his  eyes  humid,  and  his  lips  trembling ;  and  I 
gazed  at  him  :  how  handsome  and  noble  lie  was  !  With 
what  pleasure  would  I  not  have  said  frankly  to  his 


44  THE  LITTLE   VIDETTE  OF  LOMBARD Y. 

face:  "Derossi,  you  are  worth  more  than  I  in  even-- 
thing !  You  are  a  man  in  comparison  with  me  !  I 
respect  you  and  I  admire  you  !  " 


THE  LITTLE  VIDETTE  OF  LOMBARDY. 

(Monthly  Story.) 

Saturday,  26th. 

In  1859,  during  the  war  for  the  liberation  of  Lom- 
bardy,  a  few  days  after  the  battle  of  Solfarino  and  San 
Martino,  won  by  the  French  and  Italians  over  the  Aus- 
trians,  on  a  beautiful  morning  in  the  month  of  June,  a 
little  baud  of  cavalry  of  Saluzzo  was  proceeding  at  a 
slow  pace  along  a  retired  path,  in  the  direction  of  the 
enemy,  and  exploring  the  country  attentively.  The 
troop  was  commanded  by  an  officer  and  a  sergeant, 
and  all  were  gazing  into  the  distance  ahead  of  them, 
with  eyes  fixed,  silent,  and  prepared  at  any  moment  to 
see  the  uniforms  of  the  enemy's  advance-posts  gleam 
white  before  them  through  the  trees.  In  this  order  they 
arrived  at  a  rustic  cabin,  surrounded  by  ash-trees,  in 
front  of  which  stood  a  solitary  boy,  about  twelve  years 
old,  who  was  removing  the  bark  from  a  small  branch 
with  a  knife,  in  order  to  make  himself  a  stick  of  it. 
From  one  window  of  the  little  house  floated  a  large  tri- 
colored  flag ;  there  was  no  one  inside  :  the  peasants 
had  fled,  after  hanging  out  the  flag,  for  fear  of  the 
Austrians.  As  soon  as  the  lad  saw  the  cavalry,  he 
flung  aside  his  stick  and  raised  his  cap.  He  was  a 
handsome  boy,  with  a  bold  face  and  large  blue  eyes 
and  long  golden  hair :  he  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and 
his  breast  was  bare. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  the  officer  asked  him, 


THE  LITTLE  VIDETTE  OF  LOMBARD  Y.  45 

reining  in  his  horse.  "  "Why  did  you  not  flee  with 
your  family  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  family,"  replied  the  bo}'.  "  I  am  a 
foundling.  I  do  a  little  work  for  everybody.  I  re- 
mained here  to  see  the  war." 

"Have  you  seen  any  Austrians  pass?" 

"  No  ;  not  for  these  three  days." 

The  officer  paused  a  while  in  thought ;  then  he 
leaped  from  his  horse,  and  leaving  his  soldiers  there, 
with  their  faces  turned  towards  the  foe,  he  entered  the 
house  and  mounted  to  the  roof.  The  house  was 
low ;  from  the  roof  only  a  small  tract  of  country  was 
visible.  "  It  will  be  necessary  to  climb  the  trees," 
said  the  officer,  and  descended.  Just  in  front  of  the 
garden  plot  rose  a  very  lofty  and  slender  ash- tree, 
which  was  rocking  its  crest  in  the  azure.  The  officer 
stood  a  brief  space  in  thought,  gazing  now  at  the  tree, 
and  again  at  the  soldiers ;  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he 
asked  the  lad  :  — 

" Is  your  sight  good,  you  monkey?" 

"Mine?"  replied  the  boy.  "I  can  spy  a  young 
sparrow  a  mile  away." 

"  Are  you  good  for  a  climb  to  the  top  of  this  tree? " 

"To  the  top  of  this  tree?  I?  I'll  be  up  there  in 
half  a  minute." 

' '  And  will  you  be  able  to  tell  me  what  you  see  up 
there  —  if  there  are  Austrian  soldiers  in  that  direction, 
clouds  of  dust,  gleaming  guns,  horses?" 

"  Certainly  I  shall." 

"  What  do  you  demand  for  this  service?" 

"What  do  I  demand?"  said  the  lad,  smiling. 
"Nothing.  A  fine  thing,  indeed!  And  then  —  if  it 
were  for  the  Germans,  I  wouldn't  do  it  on  any  terms ; 
but  for  our  men  !  I  am  a  Lombard  !  " 

"  Good  !     Then  up  with  you." 


46  THE  LITTLE   VIDETTE  OF  LOMBARD?. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  until  I  take  off  my  shoes." 

He  pulled  off  his  shoes,  tightened  the  girth  of  his 
trousers,  flung  his  cap  on  the  grass,  and  clasped  the 
trunk  of  the  ash. 

"Take  care,  now!"  exclaimed  the  officer,  making 
a  movement  to  hold  him  back,  as  though  seized  with  a 
sudden  terror. 

The  boy  turned  to  look  at  him,  with  his  handsome 
blue  eyes,  as  though  interrogating  him. 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  officer  ;  "  up  with  you." 

Up  went  the  lad  like  a  cat. 

"  Keep  watch  ahead !  "  shouted  the  officer  to  the 
soldiers, 

In  a  few  moments  the  boy  was  at  the  top  of  the  tree, 
twined  around  the  trunk,  with  his  legs  among  the 
leaves,  but  his  body  displayed  to  view,  and  the  sun 
beating  down  on  his  blond  head,  which  seemed  to  be 
of  gold.  The  officer  could  hardly  see  him,  so  small 
did  he  seem  up  there. 

' '  Look  straight  ahead  and  far  away  !  "  shouted  the 
officer. 

The  lad,  in  order  to  see  better,  removed  his  right 
hand  from  the  tree,  and  shaded  his  eyes  with  it. 

"  What  do  you  see?  "  asked  the  officer. 

The  boy  inclined  his  head  towards  him,  and  making 
a  speaking-trumpet  of  his  hand,  replied,  "  Two  men 
on  horseback,  on  the  white  road." 

"At  what  distance  from  here?" 

"Half  a  mile." 

"  Are  they  moving?  " 

"They  are  standing  still." 

"What  else  do  you  see?"  asked  the  officer,  after  a 
momentary  silence.  "  Look  to  the  right."  The  boy 
looked  to  the  right. 


THE  LITTLE   VIDETTE  OF  LOMBARD  Y.  47 

Then  he  said  :  "  Near  the  cemetery,  among  the  trees, 
there  is  something  glittering.  It  seems  to  be  bayonets." 

"  Do  you  see  men  ?  " 

"  No.     They  must  be  concealed  in  the  grain." 

At  that  moment  a  sharp  whiz  of  a  bullet  passed 
high  up  in  the  air,  and  died  away  in  the  distance,  be- 
hind the  house. 

"  Come  down,  my  lad  !  "  shouted  the  officer.  "  They 
have  seen  you.  I  don't  want  anything  more.  Come 
down." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  Come  down  !  "  repeated  the  officer.  "  What  else 
do  you  see  to  the  left?" 

"To  the  left?" 

"Yes,  to  the  left." 

The  lad  turned  his  head  to  the  left :  at  that  mo- 
ment, another  whistle,  more  acute  and  lower  than  the 
first,  cut  the  air.  The  boy  was  thoroughly  aroused. 
"  Deuce  take  them  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  They  actually 
are  aiming  at  me  !  "  The  bullet  had  passed  at  a  short 
distance  from  him. 

"  Down  !  "  shouted  the  officer,  imperious  and  irri- 
tated. 

"  I'll  come  down  presently,"  replied  the  boy.  "  But 
the  tree  shelters  me.  Don't  fear.  You  want  to 
know  what  there  is  on  the  left? " 

"Yes,  on  the  left,"  answered  the  officer;  "but 
come  down." 

"  On  the  left,"  shouted  the  lad,  thrusting  his  body 
out  in  that  direction,  "  yonder,  where  there  is  a  chapel,  I 
think  I  see  —  " 

A  third  fierce  whistle  passed  through  the  air,  and 
almost  instantaneously  the  boy  was  seen  to  descend, 


48  THE  LITTLE   VIDETTE  OF  LOMBARDT. 

catching  for  a  moment  at  the  trunk  and  branches,  and 
then  falling  headlong  with  arms  outspread. 

"  Curse  it !  "  exclaimed  the  officer,  running  up. 

The  boy  landed  on  the  ground,  upon  his  back,  and 
remained  stretched  out  there,  with  arms  outspread  and 
supine  ;  a  stream  of  blood  flowed  from  his  breast,  on 
the  left.  The  sergeant  and  two  soldiers  leaped  from 
their  horses  ;  the  officer  bent  over  and  opened  his  shirt : 
the  ball  had  entered  his  left  lung.  "He  is  dead!" 
exclaimed  the  officer. 

"No,  he  still  lives !"  replied  the  sergeant.  —  "Ah, 
poor  boy!  brave  bo}' !  "  cried  the  officer.  "Cour- 
age, courage  !  "  But  while  he  was  saying  "courage," 
he  was  pressing  his  handkerchief  on  the  wound.  The, 
boy  rolled  his  eyes  wildly  and  dropped  his  head  back. 
He  was  dead.  The  officer  turned  pale  and  stood  for  a 
moment  gazing  at  him ;  then  he  laid  him  down  care- 
fully on  his  cloak  upon  the  grass ;  then  rose  and  stood 
looking  at  him ;  the  sergeant  and  two  soldiers  also 
stood  motionless,  gazing  upon  him  :  the  rest  were  fac- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  enemy. 

"Poor  boy!"  repeated  the  officer.  "Poor,  brave 
boy !  " 

Then  he  approached  the  house,  removed  the  tri- 
color from  the  window,  and  spread  it  in  guise  of  a 
funeral  pall  over  the  little  dead  boy,  leaving  his  face 
uncovered.  The  sergeant  collected  the  dead  boy's 
shoes,  cap,  his  little  stick,  and  his  knife,  and  placed 
them  beside  him. 

They  stood  for  a  few  moments  longer  in  silence  ; 
then  the  officer  turned  to  the  sergeant  and  said  to  him, 
"We  will  send  the  ambulance  for  him:  he  died  as  a 
soldier;  the  soldiers  shall  bury  him."  Jlaving  said 
this,  he  wafted  a  kiss  with  his  hand  to  the  dead  boy, 


THE  LITTLE  VIDETTE  OF  LOMBARDY.  49 

and  shouted  "  To  horse !  "  All  sprang  into  the  sad- 
dle, the  troop  drew  together  and  resumed  its  road. 

And  a  few  hours  later  the  little  dead  boy  received 
the  honors  of  war. 

At  sunset  the  whole  line  of  the  Italian  advance-posts 
inarched  forward  towards  the  foe,  and  along  the  same 
road  which  had  been  traversed  in  the  morning  by  the 
detachment  of  cavalry,  there  proceeded,  in  two  files, 
a  heavy  battalion  of  sharpshooters,  who,  a  few  days 
before,  had  valiantly  watered  the  hill  of  San  Martino 
with  blood.  The  news  of  the  boy's  death  had  already 
spread  among  the  soldiers  before  they  left  the  encamp- 
ment. The  path,  flanked  by  a  rivulet,  ran  a  few  paces 
distant  from  the  house.  When  the  first  officers  of  the 
battalion  caught  sight  of  the  little  body  stretched  at  the 
foot  of  the  ash-tree  and  covered  with  the  tricolored 
banner,  they  made  the  salute  to  it  with  their  swords, 
and  one  of  them  bent  over  the  bank  of  the  streamlet, 
which  was  covered  with  flowers  at  that  spot,  plucked  a 
couple  of  blossoms  and  threw  them  on  it.  Then  all  the 
sharpshooters,  as  they  passed,  plucked  flowers  and  threw 
them  on  the  body.  In  a  few  minutes  the  boy  was  cov- 
ered with  flowers,  and  officers  and  soldiers  all  saluted 
him  as  they  passed  by:  "Bravo,  little  Lombard!" 
"  Farewell,  my  lad !  "  "I  salute  thee,  gold  locks  !  " 
"  Hurrah  !  "  "  Glory !  "  "  Farewell !  "  One  officer 
tossed  him  his  medal  for  valor ;  another  went  and 
kissed  his  brow.  And  flowers  continued  to  rain  down 
on  his  bare  feet,  on  his  blood-stained  breast,  on  his 
golden  head.  And  there  he  lay  asleep  on  the  grass, 
enveloped  in  his  flag,  with  a  white  and  almost  smiling 
face,  poor  bo}r !  as  though  he  heard  these  salutes  and 
was  glad  that  he  had  given  his  life  for  his  Lombardy. 


50  THE  POOR. 


THE   POOR. 

Tuesday,  29th. 

To  give  one's  life  for  one's  country  as  the  Lombard  boy 
did,  is  a  great  virtue ;  but  yon  must  not  neglect  the  lesser 
virtues,  my  son.  This  morning  as  you  walked  in  front  of 
me,  when  we  were  returning  from  school,  you  passed  near 
a  poor  woman  who  was  holding  between  her  knees  a  thin, 
pale  child,  and  who  asked  alms  of  you.  You  looked  at  her 
and  gave  her  nothing,  and  yet  you  had  some  coppers  in  your 
pocket.  Listen,  my  son.  Do  not  accustom  yourself  to  pass 
indifferently  before  misery  which  stretches  out  its  hand  to 
you,  and  far  less  before  a  mother  who  asks  a  copper  for  her 
child.  Reflect  that  the  child  may  be  hungry ;  think  of  the 
agony  of  that  poor  woman.  Picture  to  yourself  the  sob  of 
despair  of  your  mother,  if  she  were  some  day  forced  to  say, 
"  Enrico,  I  cannot  give  you  any  bread  even  to-day  !  "  When 
I  give  a  soldo  to  a  beggar,  and  he  says  to  rne,  "  God  preserve 
your  health,  and  the  health  of  all  belonging  to  you  !  "  you 
cannot  understand  the  sweetness  which  these  words  produce 
in  my  heart,  the  gratitude  that  I  feel  for  that  poor  man.  It 
seems  to  me  certain  that  such  a  good  wish  must  keep  one  in 
good  health  for  a  long  time,  and  I  return  home  content,  and 
think,  "  Oh,  that  poor  man  has  returned  to  me  very  much 
more  than  I  gave  him ! "  Well,  let  me  sometimes  feel  that 
good  wish  called  forth,  merited  by  you ;  draw  a  soldo  from 
your  little  purse  now  and  then,  and  let  it  fall  into  the  hand 
of  a  blind  man  without  means  of  subsistence,  of  a  mother 
without  bread,  of  a  child  without  a  mother.  The  poor  love 
the  alms  of  boys,  because  it  does  not  humiliate  them,  and 
because  boys,  who  stand  in  need  of  everything,  resemble 
themselves :  you  see  that  there  are  always  poor  people 
around  the  schoolhouses.  The  alms  of  a  man  is  an  act  of 
charity ;  but  that  of  a  child  is  at  one  and  the  same  time  an 
act  of  charity  and  a  caress  —  do  you  understand  ?  It  is  as 
though  a  soldo  and  a  flower  fell  from  your  hand  together. 
Reflect  that  you  lack  nothing,  and  that  they  lack  everything; 


THE  POOR.  51 

that  while  you  aspire  to  be  happy,  they  are  content  simply 
with  not  dying.  Reflect,  that  it  is  a  horror,  in  the  midst  of 
so  many  palaces,  along  the  streets  thronged  with  carriages, 
and  children  clad  in  velvet,  that  there  should  be  women  and 
children  who  have  nothing  to  eat.  To  have  nothing  to  eat ! 
O  God !  Boys  like  you,  as  good  as  you,  as  intelligent  as  you, 
who,  in  the  midst  of  a  great  city,  have  nothing  to  eat,  like 
wild  beasts  lost  in  a  desert !  Oh,  never  again,  Enrico,  pass  a 
mother  who  is  begging,  without  placing  a  soldo  in  her 
handl 

THY  FATHER. 


52  THE   TRADER. 


DECEMBER. 


THE   TRADER. 

Thursday,  1st. 

MY  father  wishes  me  to  have  some  one  of  my  com- 
panions come  to  the  house  every  holiday,  or  that  I 
should  go  to  see  one  of  them,  in  order  that  I  may 
gradually  become  friends  with  all  of  them.  Suuda}'  I 
shall  go  to  walk  with  Votini,  the  well-dressed  boy  who 
is  always  polishing  himself  up,  and  who  is  so  envious 
of  Derossi.  In  the  meantime,  Garoffi  came  to  the 
house  to-day, — that  long,  lank  boy,  with  the  nose  like 
an  owl's  beak,  and  small,  knavish  eyes,  which  seem  to 
be  ferreting  everywhere.  He  is  the  son  of  a  grocer ; 
he  is  an  eccentric  fellow ;  he  is  always  counting  the 
soldi  that  he  has  in  his  pocket ;  he  reckons  them  on 
his'  fingers  very,  very  rapidly,  and  goes  through  some 
process  of  multiplication  without  any  tables  ;  and  he 
hoards  his  money,  and  already  has  a  book  in  the 
Scholars'  Savings  Bank.  He  never  spends  a  soldo,  I 
am  positive  ;  and  if  he  drops  a  centesimo  under  the 
benches,  he  is  capable  of  hunting  for  it  for  a  week. 
He  does  as  magpies  do,  so  Derossi  says.  Everything 
that  he  finds  —  worn-out  pens,  postage-stamps  that 
have  been  used,  pins,  candle-ends  —  he  picks  up.  He 
has  been  collecting  postage-stamps  for  more  than  two 
years  now ;  and  he  already  has  hundreds  of  them 
from  every  country,  in  a  large  album,  which  he  will 


THE   TRADER.  53 

sell  to  a  bookseller  later  on,  when  he  has  got  it  quite 
full.  Meanwhile,  the  bookseller  gives  him  his  copy- 
books gratis,  because  he  takes  a  great  many  boys  to 
the  shop.  In  school,  he  is  always  bartering ;  he  effects 
sales  of  little  articles  every  day,  and  lotteries  and 
exchanges  ;  then  he  regrets  the  exchange,  and  wants 
his  stuff  back ;  he  buys  for  two  and  gets  rid  of  it  for 
four ;  he  plays  at  pitch-penny,  and  never  loses  ;  he 
sells  old  newspapers  over  again  to  the  tobacconist ; 
and  he  keeps  a  little  blank-book,  in  which  he  sets 
down  his  transactions,  which  is  completely  filled  with 
suras  and  subtractions.  At  school  he  studies  nothing 
but  arithmetic  ;  and  if  he  desires  the  medal,  it  is  only 
that  he  may  have  a  free  entrance  into  the  puppet-show. 
But  he  pleases  me  ;  he  amuses  me.  We  played  at 
keeping  a  market,  with  weights  and  scales.  He  knows 
the  exact  price  of  everything ;  he  understands  weigh- 
ing, and  makes  handsome  paper  horns,  like  shop- 
keepers, with  great  expedition.  He  declares  that  as 
soon  as  he  has  finished  school  he  shall  set  up  in  busi- 
ness —  in  a  new  business  which  he  has  invented  him- 
self. He  was  very  much  pleased  when  I  gave  him 
some  foreign  postage-stamps ;  and  he  informed  me 
exactly  how  each  one  sold  for  collections.  My  father 
pretended  to  be  reading  the  newspaper  ;  but  he  listened 
to  him,  and  was  greatly  diverted.  His  pockets  are 
bulging,  full  of  his  little  wares  ;  and  he  covers  them 
up  with  a  long  black  cloak,  and  always  appears 
thoughtful  and  preoccupied  with  business,  like  a  mer- 
chant. But  the  thing  that  he  has  nearest  his  heart 
is  his  collection  of  postage-stamps.  This  is  his  treas- 
ure ;  and  lie  always  speaks  of  it  as  though  he  were 
going  to  get  a  fortune  out  of  it.  His  companions 
accuse  him  of  miserliness  and  usury.  I  do  not  know : 


54  VANITY. 

I  like  him  ;  he  teaches  me  a  great  many  things  ;  he 
seems  a  man  to  me.  Coretti,  the  son  of  the  wood- 
merchant,  says  that  he  would  not  give  him  his  postage- 
stamps  to  save  his  mother's  life.  My  father  does  not 
believe  it. 

"  Wait  a  little  before  you  condemn  him,"  he  said  to 
me  ;  "  he  has  this  passion,  but  he  has  heart  as  well." 


VANITY. 

Monday,  5th. 

Yesterday  I  went  to  take  a  walk  along  the  Rivoli 
road  with  Votini  and  his  father.  As  we  were  passing 
through  the  Via  Dora  Grossa  we  saw  Stardi,  the  boy 
who  kicks  disturbers,  standing  stiffly  in  front  of  the 
window  of  a  book-shop,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  a 
geographical  map ;  and  no  one  knows  how  long  he  had 
been  there,  because  he  studies  even  in  the  street.  He 
barely  returned  our  salute,  the  rude  fellow  !  Votini 
was  well  dressed  —  even  too  much  so.  He  had  on 
morocco  boots  embroidered  in  red,  an  embroidered 
coat,  small  silken  frogs,  a  white  beaver  hat,  and  a 
watch  ;  and  he  strutted.  But  his  vanit}r  was  destined 
to  come  to  a  bad  end  on  this  occasion.  After  having 
run  a  tolerably  long  distance  up  the  Rivoli  road,  leav- 
ing his  father,  who  was  walking  slowly,  a  long  way  in 
the  rear,  we  halted  at  a  stone  seat,  beside  a  modestly 
clad  boy,  who  appeared  to  be  weary,  and  was  meditat- 
ing, with  drooping  head.  A  man,  who  must  have  been 
his  father,  was  walking  to  and  fro  under  the  trees, 
reading  the  newspaper.  We  sat  down.  Votini  placed 
himself  between  me  and  the  boy.  All  at  once  he 
recollected  that  he  was  well  dressed,  and  wanted  to 
make  his  neighbor  admire  and  envy  him. 


VANITY.  55 

He  lifted  one  foot,  and  said  to  me,  '•  Have  you  seen 
my  officer's  boots?"  He  said  this  in  order  to  make 
the  other  boy  look  at  them ;  but  the  latter  paid  no 
attention  to  them. 

Then  he  dropped  his  foot,  and  showed  me  his  silk 
frogs,  glancing  askance  at  the  boy  the  while,  and  said 
that  these  frogs  did  not  please  him,  and  that  he  wanted 
to  have  them  changed  to  silver  buttons ;  but  the  boy 
did  not  look  at  the  frogs  either. 

Then  Votiui  fell  to  twirling  his  very  handsome  white 
castor  hat  on  the  tip  of  his  forefinger ;  but  the  boy  — 
and  it  seemed  as  though  he  did  it  on  purpose  —  did 
not  deign  even  a  glance  at  the  hat. 

Votini,  who  began  to  become  irritated,  drew  out  his 
watch,  opened  it,  and  showed  me  the  wheels ;  but  the 
boy  did  not  turn  his  head.  "Is  it  of  silver  gilt?"  I 
asked  him. 

"  No,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  is  gold." 

"  But  not  entirely  of  gold,"  I  said  ;  "  there  must  be 
some  silver  with  it." 

"  Why,  no !  "  he  retorted ;  and,  in  order  to  compel 
the  boy  to  look,  he  held  the  watch  before  his  face,  and 
said  to  him,  "  Say,  look  here!  isn't  it  true  that  it  is 
entirely  of  gold?  " 

The  boy  replied  curtly,  "  I  don't  know." 

"  Oh !  oh !  "  exclaimed  Votini,  full  of  wrath,  "what 
pride  ! " 

As  he  was  sa}Ting  this,  his  father  came  up,  and 
heard  him  ;  he  looked  steadily  at  the  lad  for  a  moment, 
then  said  sharply  to  his  son,  "Hold  your  tongue!" 
and,  bending  down  to  his  ear,  he  added,  "he  is  blind  ! " 

Votini  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  a  shudder,  and  stared 
the  boy  in  the  face :  the  latter's  eyeballs  were  glassy, 
without  expression,  without  sight. 


56  THE  FIRST  SNOW-STORM. 

Votini  stood  humbled,  — speechless,  —  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground.  At  length  he  stammered,  "I 
am  sorry  ;  I  did  not  know." 

But  the  blind  boy,  who  had  understood  it  all,  said, 
with  a  kind  and  melancholy  smile,  "  Oh,  it's  no 
matter !  " 

Well,  he  is  vain  ;  but  Votini  has  not  at  all  a  bad 
heart.  He  never  laughed  again  during  the  whole  of 
the  walk. 


THE   FIRST   SNOW-STORM. 

Saturday,  10th. 

Farewell,  walks  to  Rivoli !  Here  is  the  beautiful 
friend  of  the  boys  !  Here  is  the  first  snow !  Ever 
since  yesterday  evening  it  has  been  falling  in  thick 
flakes  as  large  as  gillyflowers.  It  was  a  pleasure  this 
morning  at  school  to  see  it  beai;  against  the  panes  and 
pile  up  on  the  window-sills ;  even  the  master  watched 
it,  and  rubbed  his  hands  ;  and  all  were  glad,  when 
they  thought  of  making  snowballs,  and  of  the  ice 
which  will  come  later,  and  of  the  hearth  at  home. 
Stardi,  entirely  absorbed  in  his  lessons,  and  with  his 
fists  pressed  to  his  temples,  was  the  only  one  who  paid 
no  attention  to  it.  What  beauty,  what  a  celebration 
there  was  when  we  left  school !  All  danced  down  the 
streets,  shouting  and  tossing  their  arms,  catching  up 
handfuls  of  snow,  and  dashing  about  in  it,  like  poodles 
in  water.  The  umbrellas  of  the  parents,  who  were 
waiting  for  them  outside,  were  all  white  ;  the  police- 
man's helmet  was  white  ;  all  our  satchels  were  white 
in  a  few  moments.  Every  one  appeared  to  be  beside 
himself  with  joy  —  even  Precossi,  the  son  of  the 
blacksmith,  that  pale  boy  who  never  laughs ;  and 


'THINK  OF  THE  THOUSANDS  OF  CREATURES  TO  WHOM   WINTER   BRINGS 
MIGERY."  —  Page  57. 


THE  FIRST  SNOW-STORM.  57 

Robetti,  the  lad  who  saved  the  little  child  from  the 
omnibus,  poor  fellow !  jumped  about  on  his  crutches. 
The  Calabrian,  who  had  never  touched  snow,  made 
himself  a  little  ball  of  it,  and  began  to  eat  it,  as  though 
it  had  been  a  peach  ;  Crossi,  the  son  of  the  vegetable- 
vendor,  filled  his  satchel  with  it ;  and  the  little  mason 
made  us  burst  with  laughter,  when  my  father  invited 
him  to  come  to  our  house  to-morrow.  He  had  his 
mouth  full  of  snow,  and,  not  daring  either  to  spit  it 
out  or  to  swallow  it,  he  stood  there  choking  and  star- 
ing at  us,  and  made  no  answer.  Even  the  school- 
mistress came  out  of  school  on  a  run,  laughing ;  and 
my  mistress  of  the  first  upper  class,  poor  little  thing ! 
ran  through  the  drizzling  snow,  covering  her  face  with 
her  green  veil,  and  coughing ;  and  meanwhile,  hun- 
dreds of  girls  from  the  neighboring  schoolhouse 
passed  by,  screaming  and  frolicking  on  that  white 
carpet ;  and  the  masters  and  the  beadles  and  the 
policemen  shouted,  l'Home!  home!"  swallowing 
flakes  of  snow,  and  whitening  their  moustaches  and 
beards.  But  they,  too,  laughed  at  this  wild  hilarity 
of  the  scholars,  as  they  celebrated  the  winter. 

You  hail  the  arrival  of  winter ;  but  there  are  boys 
who  have  neither  clothes  nor  shoes  nor  fire.  There  are 
thousands  of  them,  who  descend  to  their  villages,  over 
a  long  road,  carrying  in  hands  bleeding  from  chilblains  a 
bit  of  wood  to  warm  the  schoolroom.  There  are  hundreds 
of  schools  almost  buried  in  the  snow,  bare  and  dismal  as 
caves,  where  the  boys  suffocate  with  smoke  or  chatter  their 
teeth  with  cold  as  they  gaze  in  terror  at  the  white  flakes, 
which  descend  unceasingly,  which  pile  up  without  cessation 
on  their  distant  cabins  threatened  by  avalanches.  You 
rejoice  in  the  winter,  boys.  Think  of  the  thousands  of 
creatures  to  whom  winter  brings  misery  and  death. 

THY  FATHER. 


58  THE  LITTLE  MASON. 


THE   LITTLE   MASON. 

Sunday,  llth. 

The  little  mason  came  to-day,  in  a  hunting- jacket, 
entirely  dressed  in  the  cast-off  clothes  of  his  father, 
which  were  still  white  with  lime  and  plaster.  My 
father  was  even  more  anxious  than  I  that  he  should 
come.  How  much  pleasure  he  gives  us !  No  sooner 
had  he  entered  than  he  pulled  off  his  ragged  cap,  which 
was  all  soaked  with  SHOW,  and  thrust  it  into  one  of  his 
pockets  ;  then  he  advanced  with  his  listless  gait,  like 
a  weary  workman,  turning  his  face,  as  smooth  as  an 
apple,  with  its  ball-like  nose,  from  side  to  side  ;  and 
when  he  entered  the  dining-room,  he  cast  a  glance 
round  at  the  furniture  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  a  small 
picture  of  Rigoletto,  a  hunchbacked  jester,  and  made 
a  "  hare's  face." 

It  is  impossible  to  refrain  from  laughing  when  one 
sees  him  make  that  hare's  face.  We  went  to  playing 
with  bits  of  wood  :  he  possesses  an  extraordinary  skill 
at  making  towers  and  bridges,  which  seem  to  stand  as 
though  by  a  miracle,  and  he  works  at  it  quite  seriously, 
with  the  patience  of  a  man.  Between  one  tower  and 
another  he  told  me  about  his  famih' :  they  live  in  a 
garret ;  his  father  goes  to  the  evening  school  to  learn 
to  read,  and  his  mother  is  a  washerwoman.  And  they 
must  love  him,  of  course,  for  he  is  clad  like  a  pooi- 
boy,  but  he  is  well  protected  from  the  cold,  with  neatly 
mended  clothes,  and  with  his  necktie  nicely  tied  by  his 
mother's  hands.  His  father,  he  told  me,  is  a  fine  man, 
—  a  giant,  who  has  trouble  in  getting  through  doors ; 
but  he  is  kind,  and  always  calls  his  son  "hare's  face": 
the  son,  on  the  contrary,  is  rather  small. 


THE  LITTLE  MASON.  59 

At  four  o'clock  we  lunched  on  bread  and  goafs-milk 
cheese,  as  we  sat  on  the  sofa ;  and  when  we  rose,  I  do 
not  know  why,  but  my  father  did  not  wish  me  to  brush 
off  the  back,  which  the  little  mason  had  spotted  with 
white,  from  his  jacket :  he  restrained  my  hand,  and 
then  rubbed  it  off  himself  on  the  sly.  While  we  were 
playing,  the  little  mason  lost  a  button  from  his  hunting- 
jacket,  and  m}-  mother  sewed  it  on,  and  he  grew  quite 
red,  and  began  to  watch  her  sew,  in  perfect  amazement 
and  confusion,  holding  his  breath  the  while.  Then  we 
gave  him  some  albums  of  caricatures  to  look  at,  and 
he,  without  being  aware  of  it  himself,  imitated  the  gri- 
maces of  the  faces  there  so  well,  that  even  m}*  father 
laughed.  He  was  so  much  pleased  when  he  went 
away  that  he  forgot  to  put  on  his  tattered  cap  ;  and 
when  we  reached  the  landing,  he  made  a  hare's  face  at 
me  once  more  in  sign  of  his  gratitude.  His  name  is 
Antonio  Rabucco,  and  he  is  eight  years  and  eight 
months  old. 

Do  you  know,  my  son,  why  I  did  not  wish  you  to  wipe  off 
the  sofa  ?  Because  to  wipe  it  while  your  companion  was  look- 
ing on  would  have  been  almost  the  same  as  administering  a 
reproof  to  him  for  having  soiled  it.  And  this  was  not  well, 
in  the  first  place,  because  he  did  not  do  it  intentionally,  and  in 
the  next,  because  he  did  it  with  the  clothes  of  his  father,  who 
had  covered  them  with  plaster  while  at  work ;  and  what  is 
contracted  while  at  work  is  not  dirt ;  it  is  dust,  lime,  varnish, 
whatever  you  like,  but  it  is  not  dirt.  Labor  does  not  engen- 
der dirt.  Never  say  of  a  laborer  coming  from  his  work,  "  He 
is  filthy."  You  should  say,  "  He  has  on  his  garments  the 
signs,  the  traces,  of  his  toil."  Remember  this.  And  you 
must  love  the  little  mason,  first,  because  he  is  your  comrade; 
and  next,  because  he  is  the  son  of  a  workingman. 

THY  FATHER. 


60  A  SNOWBALL. 


A   SNOWBALL. 

Friday,  16th. 

It  is  still  snow,  snow.  A  shameful  thing  happened 
in  connection  with  the  snow  this  morning  when  we 
came  out  of  school.  A  flock  of  boys  had  no  sooner 
got  into  the  Corso  than  they  began  to  throw  balls  of 
that  watery  snow  which  makes  missiles  as  solid  and 
heavy  as  stones.  Many  persons  were  passing  along 
the  sidewalks.  A  gentleman  called  out,  "  Stop  that, 
you  little  rascals  !  "  and  just  at  that  moment  a  sharp 
cry  rose  from  another  part  of  the  street,  and  we  saw 
an  old  man  who  had  lost  his  hat  and  was  staggering 
about,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  beside  him 
a  boy  who  was  shouting,  "Help  !  help  !  " 

People  instantly  ran  from  all  directions.  He  had 
been  struck  in  the  eye  with  a  ball.  All  the  boys  dis- 
persed, fleeing  like  arrows.  I  was  standing  in  front 
of  the  bookseller's  shop,  into  which  my  father  had 
gone,  and  I  saw  several  of  my  companions  approaching 
at  a  run,  mingling  with  others  near  me,  and  pretending 
to  be  engaged  in  staring  at  the  windows  :  there  was 
Garrone,  with  his  penny  roll  in  his  pocket,  as  usual ; 
Coretti,  the  little  mason  ;  and  Garoffl,  the  boy  with  the 
postage-stamps.  In  the  meantime  a  crowd  had  formed 
around  the  old  man,  and  a  policeman  and  others  were 
running  to  and  fro,  threatening  and  demanding  :  "  Who 
was  it  ?  Who  did  it  ?  Was  it  you  ?  Tell  me  who  did 
it ! "  and  they  looked  at  the  boys'  hands  to  see  whether 
they  were  wet  with  snow. 

Garoffi  was  standing  beside  me.  I  perceived  that  he 
was  trembling  all  over,  and  that  his  face  was  as  white 
as  that  of  a  corpse.  "  Who  was  it?  Who  did  it?" 
the  crowd  continued  to  cry. 


"STOP  THAT,   YOU   LITTLE  RASCALS  !'— Page  60. 


A  SNOWBALL.  61 

Then  I  overheard  Garrone  say  in  a  low  voice  to 
Garoffi,  "  Come,  go  and  present  yourself;  it  would  be 
cowardly  to  allow  any  one  else  to  be  arrested." 

"But  I  did  not  do  it  on  purpose,"  replied  Garoffi, 
trembling  like  a  leaf. 

"  No  matter  ;  do  your  duty,"  repeated  Garrone. 

"  But  I  have  not  the  courage." 

"  Take  courage,  then  ;  I  will  accompany  you." 

And  the  policeman  and  the  other  people  were  crying 
more  loudly  than  ever:  "Who  was  it?  Who  did  it? 
One  of  his  glasses  has  been  driven  into  his  eye  !  He 
has  been  blinded  !  The  ruffians  !  " 

I  thought  that  Garoffi  would  fall  to  the  earth. 
"Come,"  said  Garroue,  resolutely,  "I  will  defend 
you ; "  and  grasping  him  by  the  arm,  he  thrust  him 
forward,  supporting  him  as  though  he  had  been  a  sick 
man.  The  people  saw,  and  instantly  understood,  and 
several  persons  ran  up  with  their  fists  raised ;  but 
Garrone  thrust  himself  between,  crying:  — 

"  Do  ten  men  of  you  set  on  one  boy?" 

Then  they  ceased,  and  a  policeman  seized  Garoffi  by 
the  hand  and  led  him,  pushing  aside  the  crowd  as  he 
went,  to  a  pastry-cook's  shop,  where  the  wounded  man 
had  been  carried.  On  catching  sight  of  him,  I  sud- 
denly recognized  him  as  the  old  employee  who  lives  on 
the  fourth  floor  of  our  house  with  his  grandnephew. 
He  was  stretched  out  on  a  chair,  with  a  handkerchief 
over  his  eyes. 

*' I  did  not  do  it  intentionally!"  sobbed  Garoffi, 
half  dead  with  terror;  "I  did  not  do  it  intention- 
ally ! " 

Two  or  three  persons  thrust  him  violently  into  the 
shop,  crying  •  "  Your  face  to  the  earth  !  Beg  his  par- 
don ! "  and  they  threw  him  to  the  ground.  But  all  at 


62  THE  MISTRESSES. 

once  two  vigorous  arras  set  him  on  his  feet  again,  and 
u  resolute  voice  said  :  — 

"No,  gentlemen!"  It  was  our  head-master,  who 
had  seen  it  all.  "  Since  he  has  had  the  courage  to  pre- 
sent himself,"  he  added,  "  no  one  has  the  right  to  hu- 
miliate him."  All  stood  silent.  "  Ask  his  forgiveness," 
said  the  head-master  to  Garoffl.  Garoffi,  bursting  into 
tears,  embraced  the  old  man's  knees,  and  the  latter, 
having  felt  for  the  boy's  head  with  his  hand,  caressed 
his  hair.  Then  all  said  :  — 

"  Go  away,  boy  !  go,  return  home." 

And  my  father  drew  me  out  of  the  crowd,  and  said 
to  me  as  we  passed  along  the  street,  "Enrico,  would 
you  have  had  the  courage,  under  similar  circumstances, 
to  do  your  duty,  —  to  go  and  confess  your  fault?" 

I  told  him  that  I  should.  And  he  said,  "Give  me 
your  word,  as  a  lad  of  heart  and  honor,  that  you  would 
do  it."  "  I  give  thee  my  word,  father  mine  ! " 


THE   MISTRESSES. 

Saturday,  17th. 

Garoffi  was  thoroughly  terrified  to-day,  in  the  expec- 
tation of  a  severe  punishment  from  the  teacher ;  but 
the  master  did  not  make  his  appearance  ;  and  as  the  as- 
sistant was  also  missing,  Signora  Cromi,  the  oldest  of 
the  schoolmistresses,  came  to  teach  the  school ;  she 
has  two  grown-up  children,  and  she  has  taught  several 
women  to  read  and  write,  who  now  come  to  accompany 
their  sons  to  the  Baretti  schoolhouse. 

She  was  sad  to-day,  because  one  of  her  sons  is  ill. 
No  sooner  had  they  caught  sight  of  her,  than  they  be- 
gan to  make  an  uproar.  But  she  said,  in  a  slow  and 


THE  MISTRESSES.  63 

tranqvil  tone,  "  Respect  m}-  white  hair  ;  I  am  not  only 
a  school-teacher,  I  am  also  a  mother "  ;  and  then  no 
one  dared  to  speak  again,  in  spite  of  that  brazen  face 
of  Franti,  who  contented  himself  with  jeering  at  her  on 
the  sly. 

Signora  Delcati,  my  brother's  teacher,  was  sent  to  take 
charge  of  SignoraCromi's  class,  and  to  Signora  Delcati's 
was  sent  the  teacher  who  is  called  "the  little  nun," 
because  she  always  dresses  in  dark  colors,  with  a  black 
apron,  and  has  a  small  white  face,  hair  that  is  always 
smooth,  very  bright  eyes,  and  a  delicate  voice,  that 
seems  to  be  forever  murmuring  prayers.  And  it  is 
incomprehensible,  my  mother  says ;  she  is  so  gentle 
and  timid,  with  that  thread  of  a  voice,  which  is  always 
even,  which  is  hardly  audible,  and  she  never  speaks 
loud  nor  flies  into  a  passion  ;  but,  nevertheless,  she 
keeps  the  boys  so  quiet  that  you  cannot  hear  them,  and 
the  most  roguish  bow  their  heads  when  she  merely 
admonishes  them  with  her  finger,  and  her  school  seems 
like  a  church  ;  and  it  is  for  this  reason,  also,  that  she  is 
called  "the  little  nun." 

But  there  is  another  one  who  pleases  me,  —  the  young 
mistress  of  the  first  lower,  No.  3,  that  young  girl  with 
the  rosy  face,  who  has  two  pretty  dimples  in  her  cheeks, 
and  who  wears  a  large  red  feather  on  her  little  bonnet, 
and  a  small  cross  of  yellow  glass  on  her  neck.  She  is 
always  cheerful,  and  keeps  her  class  cheerful ;  she  is 
always  calling  out  with  that  silvery  voice  of  hers,  which 
makes  her  seem  to  be  singing,  and  tapping  her  little 
rod  on  the  table,  and  clapping  her  hands  to  impose  si- 
lence ;  then,  when  they  come  out  of  school,  she  runs 
after  one  and  another  like  a  child,  to  bring  them  back 
into  line  :  she  pulls  up  the  cape  of  one,  and  buttons  the 
coat  of  another,  so  that  they  may  not  take  cold ;  she 


64         ^v   THE  HOUSE  OF   THE  WOUNDED   MAN. 

follows  them  even  into  the  street,  in  order  that  the}' 
may  not  fall  to  quarrelling  ;  she  beseeches  the  parents 
not  to  whip  them  at  home  ;  she  brings  lozenges  to  those 
who  have  coughs ;  she  lends  her  muff  to  those  who  are 
cold  ;  and  she  is  continually  tormented  by  the  smallest 
children,  who  caress  her  and  demand  kisses,  and  pull 
at  her  veil  and  her  mantle  ;  but  she  lets  them  do  it,  and 
kisses  them  all  with  a  smile,  and  returns  home  all 
rumpled  and  with  her  throat  all  bare,  panting  and 
happ3*,  with  her  beautiful  dimples  and  her  red  feather. 
She  is  also  the  girls'  drawing-teacher,  and  she  sup- 
ports her  mother  and  a  brother  by  her  own  labor. 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WOUNDED  MAN. 

Sunday, 18th. 

The  grandnephew  of  the  old  employee  who  was 
struck  in  the  eye  by  Garoffi's  snowball  is  with  the 
schoolmistress  who  has  the  red  feather :  we  saw  him 
to-day  in  the  house  of  his  uncle,  who  treats  him  like  a 
son.  I  had  finished  writing  out  the  monthly  story  for 
the  coming  week, —  The  Little  Florentine  Scribe, — 
which  the  master  had  given  to  me  to  copy ;  and  my 
father  said  to  me  :  — 

"  Let  us  go  up  to  the  fourth  floor,  and  see  how  that 
old  gentleman's  eye  is." 

We  entered  a  room  which  was  almost  dark,  where 
the  old  man  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  with  a  great  many 
pillows  behind  his  shoulders ;  by  the  bedside  sat  his 
wife,  and  in  one  corner  his  nephew  was  amusing  him- 
self. The  old  man's  eye  was  bandaged.  He  was  very 
glad  to  see  my  father ;  he  made  us  sit  down,  and  said 
that  he  was  better,  that  his  eye  was  not  only  not  ruined, 
but  that  he  should  be  quite  well  again  in  a  few  days. 


IN  THE  HOUSE   OF   THE  WOUNDED  MAN.         65 

"It  was  an  accident,"  he  added.  "  I  regret  the  terror 
which  it  must  have  caused  that  poor  boy."  Then  he 
talked  to  us  about  the  doctor,  whom  he  expected  every 
moment  to  attend  him.  Just  then  the  door-bell  rang. 

"  There  is  the  doctor,"  said  his  wife. 

The  door  opened  —  and  whom  did  I  see  ?  Garoffi, 
in  his  long  cloak,  standing,  with  bowed  head,  on  the 
threshold,  and  without  the  courage  to  enter. 

"  Who  is  it?"  asked  the  sick  man. 

"It  is  the  boy  who  threw  the  snowball,"  said  my 
father.  And  then  the  old  man  said  :  — 

"  Oh,  my  poor  boy!  come  here ;  you  have  come  to 
inquire  after  the  wounded  man,  have  you  not?  But  he 
is  better ;  be  at  ease ;  he  is  better  and  almost  well. 
Come  here." 

Garoffi,  who  did  not  perceive  us  in  his  confusion, 
approached  the  bed,  forcing  himself  not  to  cry ;  and 
the  old  man  caressed  him,  but  could  not  speak. 

"Thanks,"  said  the  old  man;  "go  and  tell  your 
father  and  mother  that  all  is  going  well,  and  that  the}" 
are  not  to  think  any  more  about  it." 

But  Garoffi  did  not  move,  and  seemed  to  have  some- 
thing to  say  which  he  dared  not  utter. 

' '  What  have  you  to  say  to  me  ?  What  is  it  that  you 
want?" 

"  I !  — Nothing." 

"Well,  good  by,  until  we  meet  again,  my  boy;  go 
with  your  heart  in  peace." 

Garoffi  went  as  far  as  the  door ;  but  there  he  halted, 
turned  to  the  nephew,  who  was  following  him,  and 
gazed  curiously  at  him.  All  at  once  he  pulled  some 
object  from  beneath  his  cloak,  put  it  in  the  boy's  hand, 
and  whispered  hastily  to  him,  "It  is  for  you,"  and 
away  he  went  like  a  flash. 


66  THE  LITTLE   FLORENTINE  SCRIBE. 

The  boy  carried  the  object  to  his  uncle  ;  we  saw  that 
on  it  was  written,  I  give  you  this ;  we  looked  inside, 
and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  It  was  the 
famous  album,  with  his  collection  of  postage-stamps, 
which  poor  Garoffi  had  brought,  the  collection  of  which 
he  was  always  talking,  upon  which  he  had  founded  so 
many  hopes,  and  which  had  cost  him  so  much  trouble  ; 
it  was  his  treasure,  poor  boy !  it  was  the  half  of  his 
very  blood,  which  he  had  presented  in  exchange  for 
his  pardon. 


THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE. 

(Monthly  Story.} 

He  was  in  the  fourth  elementary  class.  He  was  a 
graceful  Florentine  lad  of  twelve,  with  black  hair  and 
a  white  face,  the  eldest  son  of  an  employee  on  the  rail- 
way, who,  having  a  large  family  and  but  small  pa}-,  lived 
in  straitened  circumstances.  His  father  loved  him  and 
was  tolerably  kind  and  indulgent  to  him  —  indulgent  in 
everything  except  in  that  which  referred  to  school :  on 
this  point  he  required  a  great  deal,  and  showed  himself 
severe,  because  his  son  was  obliged  to  attain  such  a 
rank  as  would  enable  him  to  soon  obtain  a  place  and 
help  his  family ;  and  in  order  to  accomplish  anything 
quickly,  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  work  a  great 
deal  in  a  very  short  time.  And  although  the  lad  stud- 
ied, his  father  was  always  exhorting  him  to  study  more. 

His  father  was  advanced  in  years,  and  too  much  toil 
had  aged  him  before  his  time.  Nevertheless,  in  order 
to  provide  for  the  necessities  of  his  family,  in  addition 
to  the  toil  which  his  occupation  imposed  upon  him,  he 
obtained  special  work  here  and  there  as  a  copyist,  and 


THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE.  67 

passed  a  good  part  of  the  night  at  his  writing-table. 
Lately,  he  had  undertaken,  in  behalf  of  a  house  which 
published  journals  and  books  in  parts,  to  write  upon 
the  parcels  the  names  and  addresses  of  their  subscrib- 
ers, and  he  earned  three  lire  l  for  every  five  hundred 
of  these  paper  wrappers,  written  in  large  and  regular 
characters.  But  this  work  wearied  him,  and  he  often 
complained  of  it  to  his  family  at  dinner. 

"My  eyes  are  giving  out,"  he  said  ;  "'  this  night  work 
is  killing  me."  One  day  his  son  said  to  him,  "  Let  me 
work  instead  of  you,  papa  ;  you  know  that  I  can  write 
like  you,  and  fairly  well."  But  the  father  answered  :  — 

"  No,  my  son,  you  must  study ;  your  school  is  a 
much  more  important  thing  than  my  wrappers ;  I  feel 
remorse  at  robbing  you  of  a  single  hour  ;  I  thank  you, 
but  I  will  not  have  it ;  do  not  mention  it  to  me  again." 

The  son  knew  that  it  was  useless  to  insist  on  such  a 
matter  with  his  father,  and  he  did  not  persist ;  but  this 
is  what  he  did.  He  knew  that  exactly  at  midnight  bis 
father  stopped  writing,  and  quitted  his  workroom  to  go 
to  his  bedroom ;  he  had  heard  him  several  times :  as 
soon  as  the  twelve  strokes  of  the  clock  had  sounded,  he 
had  heard  the  sound  of  a  chair  drawn  back,  and  the 
slow  step  of  his  father.  One  night  he  waited  until  the 
latter  was  in  bed,  then  dressed  himself  very,  very 
softly,  and  felt  his  way  to  the  little  workroom,  lighted 
the  petroleum  lamp  again,  seated  himself  at  the  writing- 
table,  where  lay  a  pile  of  white  wrappers  and  the  list  of 
addresses,  and  began  to  write,  imitating  exactly  his 
father's  handwriting.  And  he  wrote  with  a  will,  gladly, 
a  little  in  fear,  and  the  wrappers  piled  up,  and  from 
time  to  time  he  dropped  the  pen  to  rub  his  hands,  and 
then  began  again  with  increased  alacrity,  listening  and 
1  Sixty  cents. 


68  THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE. 

smiling.  He  wrote  a  hundred  and  sixty  —  one  lira ! 
Then  he  stopped,  placed  the  pen  where  he  had  found  it, 
extinguished  the  light,  and  went  back  to  bed  on  tiptoe. 

At  noon  that  day  his  father  sat  down  to  the  table  in 
a  good  humor.  He  had  perceived  nothing.  He  per- 
formed the  work  mechanically,  measuring  it  by  the 
hour,  and  thinking  of  something  else,  and  only  counted 
the  wrappers  he  had  written  on  the  following  day.  He 
seated  himself  at  the  table  in  a  fine  humor,  and  slapping 
his  son  on  one  shoulder,  he  said  to  him  :  — 

"  Eh,  Giulio  !  Your  father  is  even  a  better  workman 
than  you  thought.  In  two  hours  I  did  a  good  third 
more  work  than  usual  last  night.  My  hand  is  still 
nimble,  and  my  eyes  still  do  their  duty."  And  Giulio, 
silent  but  content,  said  to  himself,  "Poor  daddy, 
besides  the  money,  I  am  giving  him  some  satisfaction 
in  the  thought  that  he  has  grown  young  again.  Well, 
courage  !  " 

Encoui'aged  by  these  good  results,  when  night  came 
and  twelve  o'clock  struck,  he  rose  once  more,  and  set 
to  work.  And  this  he  did  for  several  nights.  And  his 
father  noticed  nothing  ;  only  once,  at  supper,  he  uttered 
this  exclamation,  "It  is  strange  how  much  oil  has  been 
used  in  this  house  lately ! "  This  was  a  shock  to 
Giulio ;  but  the  conversation  ceased  there,  and  the 
nocturnal  labor  proceeded. 

However,  by  dint  of  thus  breaking  his  sleep  every 
night,  Giulio  did  not  get  sufficient  rest :  he  rose  in  the 
morning  fatigued,  and  when  he  was  doing  his  school 
work  in  the  evening,  he  had  difficulty  in  keeping  his 
eyes  open.  One  evening,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
he  fell  asleep  over  his  copy-book. 

"  Courage  !  courage  !  "  cried  his  father,  clapping  his 
hands  ;  "  to  work  !  " 


THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE.  69 

He  shook  himself  and  set  to  work  again.  But  the 
next  evening,  and  on  the  days  following,  the  same  thing 
occurred,  and  worse  :  he  dozed  over  his  books,  he  rose 
later  than  usual,  he  studied  his  lessons  in  a  languid 
way,  he  seemed  disgusted  With  study.  His  father 
began  to  observe  him,  then  to  reflect  seriously,  and  at 
last  to  reprove  him.  He  should  never  have  done  it ! 

"  Giulio,"  he  said  to  him  one  morning,  "  you  put  me 
quite  beside  myself ;  you  are  no  longer  as  you  used  to 
be.  I  don't  like  it.  Take  care  ;  all  the  hopes  of  your 
family  rest  on  you.  I  am  dissatisfied ;  do  }'ou  under- 
stand?" 

At  this  reproof,  the  first  severe  one,  in  truth,  which 
he  had  ever  received,  the  boy  grew  troubled. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  is  true  ;  it  cannot  go 
on  so ;  this  deceit  must  come  to  an  end." 

But  at  dinner,  on  the  evening  of  that  very  same  day, 
his  father  said  with  much  cheerfulness,  "  Do  you  know 
that  this  month  I  have  earned  thirty-two  lire  more  at 
addressing  those  wrappers  than  last  month !  "  and  so 
saying,  he  drew  from  under  the  table  a  paper  package 
of  sweets  which  he  had  bought,  that  he  might  celebrate 
with  his  children  this  extraordinary  profit,  and  they  all 
hailed  it  with  clapping  of  hands.  Then  Giulio  took 
heart  again,  courage  again,  and  said  in  his  heart,  "  No, 
poor  papa,  I  will  not  cease  to  deceive  you ;  I  will  make 
greater  efforts  to  work  during  the  day,  but  I  shall  con- 
tinue to  work  at  night  for  you  and  for  the  rest."  And 
his  father  added,  "  Thirty-two  lire  more  !  I  am  satis- 
fied. But  that  boy  there,"  pointing  at  Giulio,  "  is  the 
one  who  displeases  me."  And  Giulio  received  the 
reprimand  in  silence,  forcing  back  two  tears  which  tried 
to  flow ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  felt  a  great  pleasure 
in  his  heart. 


70  THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE. 

And  he  continued  to  work  by  main  force  ;  but  fatigue 
added  to  fatigue  rendered  it  ever  more  difficult  for  him 
to  resist.  Thus  things  went  on  for  two  months.  The 
father  continued  to  reproach  his  son,  and  to  gaze  at 
him  with  eyes  which  grew  constantly  more  wrathful. 
One  day  he  went  to  make  inquiries  of  the  teacher,  and 
the  teacher  said  to  him :  "Yes,  he  gets  along,  he  gets 
along,  because  he  is  intelligent ;  but  he  no  longer  has 
the  good  will  which  he  had  at  first.  He  is  drowsy,  he 
yawns,  his  mind  is  distracted.  He  writes  short  compo- 
sitions, scribbled  down  in  all  haste,  in  bad  chirography. 
Oh,  he  could  do  a  great  deal,  a  great  deal  more." 

That  evening  the  father  took  the  son  aside,  and 
spoke  to  him  words  which  were  graver  than  any  the 
latter  had  ever  heard.  "  Giulio,  you  see  how  I  toil, 
how  I  am  wearing  out  my  life,  for  the  family.  You  do 
not  second  my  efforts.  You  have  no  heart  for  me,  nor 
for  your  brothers,  nor  for  your  mother  !  " 

"Ah  no!  don't  say  that,  father!"  cried  the  son, 
bursting  into  tears,  and  opening  his  mouth  to  confess 
all.  But  his  father  interrupted  him,  saying  :  — 

"  You  are  aware  of  the  condition  of  the  family  ;  you 
know  that  good  will  and  sacrifices  on  the  part  of  all 
are  necessary.  I  myself,  as  you  see,  have  had  to 
double  my  work.  I  counted  on  a  gift  of  a  hundred  lire 
from  the  railway  company  this  month,  and  this  morning 
I  have  learned  that  I  shall  receive  nothing  !  " 

At  this  information,  Giulio  repressed  the  confession 
which  was  on  the  point  of  escaping  from  his  soul,  and 
repeated  resolutely  to  himself :  "  No,  papa,  I  shall  tell 
you  nothing ;  I  shall  guard  my  secret  for  the  sake  of 
being  able  to  work  for  you  ;  I  will  recompense  you  in 
another  way  for  the  sorrow  which  I  occasion  you  ;  I 
will  study  enough  at  school  to  win  promotion  ;  the  im- 


THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE.  71 

portant  point  is  to  help  you  to  earn  our  living,  and  to 
relieve  you  of  the  fatigue  which  is  killing  you." 

And  so  he  went  on,  and  two  months  more  passed,  of 
labor  by  night  and  weakness  by  day,  of  desperate 
efforts  on  the  part  of  the  son,  and  of  bitter  reproaches 
on  the  part  of  the  father.  But  the  worst  of  it  was, 
that  the  latter  grew  gradually  colder  towards  the  boy, 
only  addressed  him  rarely,  as  though  he  had  been  a 
recreant  son,  of  whom  there  was  nothing  any  longer  to 
be  expected,  and  almost  avoided  meeting  his  glance. 
And  Giulio  perceived  this  and  suffered  from  it,  and 
when  his  father's  back  was  turned,  he  threw  him  a  fur- 
tive kiss,  stretching  forth  his  face  with  a  sentiment  of 
sad  and  dutiful  tenderness  ;  and  between  sorrow  and 
fatigue,  he  grew  thin  and  pale,  and  he  was  constrained 
to  still  further  neglect  his  studies.  And  he  understood 
well  that  there  must  be  an  end  to  it  some  day,  and 
every  evening  he  said  to  himself,  "I  will  not  get  up 
to-night "  ;  but  when  the  clock  struck  twelve,  at  the 
moment  when  he  should  have  vigorously  reaffirmed  his 
resolution,  he  felt  remorse  :  it  seemed  to  him,  that  by 
remaining  in  bed  he  should  be  failing  in  a  duty,  and 
robbing  his  father  and  the  family  of  a  lira.  And  he 
rose,  thinking  that  some  night  his  father  would  wake 
up  and  discover  him,  or  that  he  would  discover  the 
deception  b}-  accident,  by  counting  the  wrappers  twice  ; 
and  then  all  would  come  to  a  natural  end,  without  any 
act  of  his  will,  which  he  did  not  feel  the  courage  to 
exert.  And  thus  he  went  on. 

But  one  evening  at  dinner  his  father  spoke  a  word 
which  was  decisive  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  His 
mother  looked  at  him,  and  as  it  seemed  to  her  that  he 
was  more  ill  and  weak  than  usual,  she  said  to  him, 
"  Giulio,  you  are  ill."  And  then,  turning  to  his  father, 


72  THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE. 

with  anxiety :  ' '  Giulio  is  ill.  See  how  pale  lie  is ! 
Giulio,  my  dear,  how  do  you  feel?  " 

His  father  gave  a  hasty  glance,  and  said  :  "  It  is  his 
bad  conscience  that  produces  his  bad  health.  He  was 
not  thus  when  he  was  a  studious  scholar  and  a  loving 
son." 

"  But  he  is  ill !  "  exclaimed  the  mother. 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  him  any  longer!" 
replied  the  father. 

This  remark  was  like  a  stab  in  the  heart  to  the  poor 
boy.  Ah  !  he  cared  nothing  any  more.  His  father,  who 
once  trembled  at  the  mere  sound  of  a  cough  from  him  ! 
He  no  longer  loved  him  ;  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt ; 
he  was  dead  in  his  father's  heart.  "Ah,  no  !  my  father," 
said  the  boy  to  himself,  his  heart  oppressed  with  anguish, 
"  now  all  is  over  indeed  ;  I  cannot  live  without  your 
affection  ;  I  must  have  it  all  back.  I  will  tell  you  all ; 
I  will  deceive  you  no  longer.  I  will  study  as  of  old, 
come  what  will,  if  you  will  only  love  me  once  more, 
my  poor  father !  Oh,  this  time  I  am  quite  sure  of  my 
resolution  !  " 

Nevertheless  he  rose  that  night  again,  by  force  of 
habit  more  than  anything  else  ;  and  when  he  was  once 
up,  he  wanted  to  go  and  salute  and  see  once  more,  for 
the  last  time,  in  the  quiet  of  the  night,  that  little 
chamber  where  he  toiled  so  much  in  secret  with  his 
heart  full  of  satisfaction  and  tenderness.  And  when  he 
beheld  again  that  little  table  with  the  lamp  lighted  and 
those  white  wrappers  on  which  he  was  never  more  to 
write  those  names  of  towns  and  persons,  which  he  had 
come  to  know  by  heart,  he  was  seized  with  a  great 
sadness,  and  with  an  impetuous  movement  he  grasped 
the  pen  to  recommence  his  accustomed  toil.  But  in 
reaching  out  his  hand  he  struck  a  book,  and  the  book 


THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE.  73 

fell.  The  blood  rushed  to  his  heart.  What  if  his  father 
had  waked !  Certainly  he  would  not  have  discovered 
him  in  the  commission  of  a  bad  deed :  he  had  himself 
decided  to  tell  him  all,  and  yet  —  the  sound  of  that 
step  approaching  in  the  darkness,  —  the  discovery  at 
that  hour,  in  that  silence,  — his  mother,  who  would  be 
awakened  and  alarmed,  —  and  the  thought,  which  had 
occurred  to  him  for  the  first  time,  that  his  father  might 
feel  humiliated  in  his  presence  on  thus  discovering 
all ;  —  all  this  terrified  him  almost.  He  bent  his  ear, 
with  suspended  breath.  He  heard  no  sound.  He 
laid  his  ear  to  the  lock  of  the  door  behind  him  — 
nothing.  The  whole  house  was  asleep.  His  father 
had  not  heard.  He  recovered  his  composure,  and  he 
set  himself  again  to  his  writing,  and  wrapper  was  piled 
on  wrapper.  He  heard  the  regular  tread  of  the  police- 
man below  in  the  deserted  street ;  then  the  rumble  of  a 
carriage  which  gradually  died  away  ;  then,  after  an 
interval,  the  rattle  of  a  file  of  carts,  which  passed 
slowly  by ;  then  a  profound  silence,  broken  from  time 
to  time  by  the  distant  barking  of  a  dog.  And  he  wrote 
on  and  on  :  and  meanwhile  his  father  was  behind  him. 
He  had  risen  on  hearing  the  fall  of  the  book,  and  had 
remained  waiting  for  a  long  time  :  the  rattle  of  the 
carts  had  drowned  the  noise  of  his  footsteps  and  the 
creaking  of  the  door-casing  ;  and  he  was  there,  with  his 
white  head  bent  over  Giulio's  little  black  head,  and  he 
had  seen  the  pen  flying  over  the  wrappers,  and  in  an. 
instant  he  had  divined  all,  remembered  all,  understood 
all,  and  a  despairing  penitence,  but  at  the  same  time  an 
immense  tenderness,  had  taken  possession  of  his  mind 
and  had  held  him  nailed  to  the  spot  suffocating  behind 
his  child.  Suddenly  Giulio  uttered  a  piercing  shriek: 
two  arms  had  pressed  his  head  convulsively. 


74  THE  LITTLE  FLORENTINE  SCRIBE. 

"  Oh,  papa,  papa  !  forgive  me,  forgive  me  !  "  he 
cried,  recognizing  his  parent  by  his  weeping. 

"  Do  you  forgive  me  !  "  replied  his  father,  sobbing, 
and  covering  his  brow  with  kisses.  "I  have  under- 
stood all,  I  know  all ;  it  is  I,  it  is  I  who  ask  your 
pardon,  my  blessed  little  creature  ;  come,  come  with 
me  !  "  and  he  pushed  or  rather  carried  him  to  the  bed- 
side of  his  mother,  who  was  awake,  and  throwing  him 
into  her  arms,  he  said  :  — 

"Kiss  this  little  angel  of  a  son,  who  has  not  slept 
for  three  months,  but  has  been  toiling  for  me,  while  I 
was  saddening  his  heart,  and  he  was  earning  our 
bread ! "  The  mother  pressed  him  to  her  breast  and 
held  him  there,  without  the  power  to  speak  ;  at  last 
she  said :  "  Go  to  sleep  at  once,  my  baby,  go  to  sleep 
and  rest.  — Carry  him  to  bed." 

The  father  took  him  from  her  arms,  carried  him  to 
his  room,  and  laid  him  in  his  bed,  still  breathing  hard 
and  caressing  him,  and  arranged  his  pillows  and  cov- 
erlets for  him. 

"Thanks,  papa,"  the  child  kept  repeating  ;  "  thanks  ; 
but  go  to  bed  yourself  now  ;  I  am  content ;  go  to  bed, 
papa." 

But  his  father  wanted  to  see  him  fall  asleep ;  so  he 
sat  down  beside  the  bed,  took  his  hand,  and  said  to 
him,  •'  Sleep,  sleep,  my  little  son  !  "  and  Giulio,  being 
weak,  fell  asleep  at  last,  and  slumbered  many  hours, 
enjoying,  for  the  first  time  in  many  months,  a  tranquil 
sleep,  enlivened  by  pleasant  dreams  ;  and  as  he  opened 
his  eyes,  when  the  sun  had  already  been  shining  for  a 
tolerably  long  time,  he  first  felt,  and  then  saw,  close 
to  his  breast,  and  resting  upon  the  edge  of  the  little 
bed,  the  white  head  of  his  father,  who  had  passed  the 
night  thus,  and  who  was  still  asleep,  with  his  brow 
against  his  son's  heart. 


WILL.  75 


WILL. 

Wednesday,  28th. 

There  is  Stardi  in  my  school,  who  would  have  the 
force  to  do  what  the  little  Florentine  did.  This  morn- 
ing two  events  occurred  at  the  school :  Garoffi,  wild 
with  delight,  because  his  album  had  been  returned  to 
him,  with  the  addition  of  three  postage-stamps  of  the 
Republic  of  Guatemala,  which  he  had  been  seeking  for 
three  months ;  and  Stardi,  who  took  the  second  medal. 
Stardi  the  next  in  the  class  after  Derossi !  All  were 
amazed  at  it.  Who  could  ever  have  foretold  it,  when, 
in  October,  his  father  brought  him  to  school  bundled 
up  in  that  big  green  coat,  and  said  to  the  master,  in 
presence  of  every  one  :  — 

"  You  must  have  a  great  deal  of  patience  with  him, 
because  he  is  very  hard  of  understanding  !  " 

Every  one  credited  him  with  a  wooden  head  from  the 
very  beginning.  But  he  said,  "  I  will  burst  or  I  will 
succeed,"  and  he  set  to  work  doggedly,  to  studying 
day  and  night,  at  home,  at  school,  while  walking,  with 
set  teeth  and  clenched  fists,  patient  as  an  ox,  obstinate 
as  a  mule  ;  and  thus,  by  dint  of  trampling  on  every 
one,  disregarding  mocker}7,  and  dealing  kicks  to  dis- 
turbers, this  big  thick-head  passed  in  advance  of  the 
rest.  He  understood  not  the  first  thing  of  arithmetic, 
he  filled  his  compositions  with  absurdities,  he  never 
succeeded  in  retaining  a  phrase  in  his  mind  ;  and  now 
he  solves  pi-oblems,  writes  correctly,  and  sings  his  les- 
sons like  a  song.  And  his  iron  will  can  be  divined 
from  the  seeing  how  he  is  made,  so  very  thickset  and 
squat,  with  a  square  head  and  no  neck,  with  short, 
thick  hands,  and  coarse  voice.  He  studies  even  on 


76  WILL. 

scraps  of  newspaper,  and  on  theatre  bills,  and  every 
time  that  he  has  ten  soldi,  he  buys  a  book  ;  he  has  al- 
ready collected  a  little  library,  and  in  a  moment  of  good 
humor  he  allowed  the  promise  to  slip  from  his  mouth 
that  he  would  take  me  home  and  show  it  to  me.  He 
speaks  to  no  one,  he  plays  with  no  one,  he  is  always 
on  hand,  on  his  bench,  with  his  fists  pressed  to  his 
temples,  firm  as  a  rock,  listening  to  the  teacher.  How 
he  must  have  toiled,  poor  Stardi !  The  master  said  to 
him  this  morning,  although  he  was  impatient  and  in  a 
bad  humor,  when  he  bestowed  the  medals  :  — 

"Bravo,  Stardi!  he  who  endures,  conquers."  But 
the  latter  did  not  appear  in  the  least  puffed  up  with  pride 
—  he  did  not  smile  ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  returned 
to  his  seat,  with  the  medal,  than  he  planted  his  fists  on 
his  temples  again,  and  became  more  motionless  and 
more  attentive  than  before.  But  the  finest  thing  hap- 
pened when  he  went  out  of  school ;  for  his  father,  a 
blood-letter,  as  big  and  squat  as  himself,  with  a  huge 
face  and  a  huge  voice,  was  there  waiting  for  him. 
He  had  not  expected  this  medal,  and  he  was  not  will- 
ing to  believe  in  it,  so  that  it  was  necessary  for  the 
master  to  reassure  him,  and  then  he  began  to  laugh 
heartily,  and  tapped  his  son  on  the  back  of  the  neck, 
saying  energetically,  "Bravo!  good!  my  dear  pump- 
kin ;  you'll  do  !  "  and  he  stared  at  him,  astonished  and 
smiling.  And  all  the  boys  around  him  smiled  too,  ex- 
cept Stardi.  He  was  already  ruminating  the  lesson 
for  to-morrow  morning  in  that  huge  head  of  his. 


GRATITUDE,  77 


GRATITUDE. 

Saturday,  31st. 

Your  comrade  Stardi  never  complains  of  his  teacher ;  I  am 
sure  of  that.  "  The  master  was  in  a  bad  temper,  was  im- 
patient," —  you  say  it  in  a  tone  of  resentment.  Think  an 
instant  how  often  you  give  way  to  acts  of  impatience,  and 
towards  whom?  towards  your  father  and  your  mother, 
towards  whom  your  impatience  is  a  crime.  Your  master 
has  very  good  cause  to  be  impatient  at  times !  Reflect 
that  he  has  been  laboring  for  boys  these  many  years,  and 
that  if  he  has  found  many  affectionate  and  noble  individuals 
among  them,  he  has  also  found  many  ungrateful  ones,  who 
have  abused  his  kindness  and  ignored  his  toils ;  and  that, 
between  you  all,  you  cause  him  far  more  bitterness  than  sat- 
isfaction. Reflect,  that  the  most  holy  man  on  earth,  if 
placed  in  his  position,  would  allow  himself  to  be  conquered 
by  wrath  now  and  then.  And  then,  if  you  only  knew  how 
often  the  teacher  goes  to  give  a  lesson  to  a  sick  boy,  all 
alone,  because  he  is  not  ill  enough  to  be  excused  from  school 
and  is  impatient  on  account  of  his  suffering,  and  is  pained 
to  see  that  the  rest  of  you  do  not  notice  it,  or  abuse  it !  Re- 
spect, love,  your  master,  my  son.  Love  him,  also,  because 
your  father  loves  and  respects  him ;  because  he  consecrates 
his  life  to  the  welfare  of  so  many  boys  who  will  forget  him ; 
love  him  because  he  opens  and  enlightens  your  intelligence 
and  educates  your  mind ;  because  one  of  these  days,  when 
you  have  become  a  man,  and  when  neither  I  nor  he  shall  be 
in  the  world,  his  image  will  often  present  itself  to  your  mind, 
side  by  side  with  mine,  and  then  you  will  see  certain  expres- 
sions of  sorrow  and  fatigue  in  his  honest  countenance  to  which 
you  now  pay  no  heed :  you  will  recall  them,  and  they  will 
pain  you,  even  after  the  lapse  of  thirty  years ;  and  you  will 
feel  ashamed,  you  will  feel  sad  at  not  having  loved  him,  at 
having  behaved  badly  to  him.  Love  your  master ;  for  he 
belongs  to  that  vast  family  of  fifty  thousand  elementary  in- 
structors, scattered  throughout  all  Italy,  who  are  the  intel- 


78  GRATITUDE. 

lectual  fathers  of  the  millions  of  boys  who  are  growing  up 
with  you ;  the  laborers,  hardly  recognized  and  poorly  recom- 
pensed, who  are  preparing  in  our  country  a  people  superior 
to  those  of  the  present.  I  am  not  content  with  the  affection 
which  you  have  for  me,  if  you  have  it  not  also  for  all  those 
who  are  doing  you  good,  and  among  these,  your  master 
stands  first,  after  your  parents.  Love  him  as  you  would  love 
a  brother  of  mine ;  love  him  when  he  caresses  and  when  he 
reproves  you ;  when  he  is  just,  and  when  he  appears  to  you 
to  be  unjust;  love  him  when  he  is  amiable  and  gracious;  and 
love  him  even  more  when  you  see  him  sad.  Love  him  al- 
ways. And  always  pronounce  with  reverence  that  name  of 
"  teacher,"  which,  after  that  of  your  father,  is  the  noblest, 
the  sweetest  name  which  one  man  can  apply  to  another  man. 

THY  FATHER. 


THE  ASSISTANT  MASTER.  79 


JANUAKY. 


THE   ASSISTANT   MASTER. 

\Vednesday,  4th. 

MY  father  was  right ;  the  master  was  in  a  bad  humor 
because  he  was  not  well ;  for  the  last  three  days,  in 
fact,  the  assistant  has  been  coming  in  his  stead,  —  that 
little  man,  without  a  beard,  who  seems  like  a  youth. 
A  shameful  thing  happened  this  morning.  There  had 
been  an  uproar  on  the  first  and  second  days,  in  the 
school,  because  the  assistant  is  very  patient  and  does 
nothing  but  say,  "  Be  quiet,  be  quiet,  I  beg  of  you." 

But  this  morning  they  passed  all  bounds.  Such  a 
noise  arose,  that  his  words  were  no  longer  audible,  and 
he  admonished  and  besought ;  but  it  was  a  mere  waste 
of  breath.  Twice  the  head-master  appeared  at  the  door 
and  looked  in ;  but  the  moment  he  disappeared  the 
murmur  increased  as  in  a  market.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Derossi  and  Garrone  turned  round  and  made  signs  to 
their  comrades  to  be  good,  so  that  it  was  a  shame. 
No  one  paid  any  heed  to  them.  Stardi  alone  remained 
quiet,  with  his  elbows  on  the  bench,  and  his  fists  to 
his  temples,  meditating,  perhaps,  on  his  famous  library  ; 
and  Garoffi,  that  boj-  with  the  hooked  nose  and  the 
postage-stamps,  who  was  wholly  occupied  in  making  a 
catalogue  of  the  subscribers  at  two  ceutesimi  each,  for 
a  lottery  for  a  pocket  inkstand.  The  rest  chattered 
and  laughed,  pounded  on  the  points  of  pens  fixed  in 


80  THE  ASSISTANT  MASTER. 

the  benches,  and  snapped  pellets  of  paper  at  each 
other  with  the  elastics  of  their  garters. 

The  assistant  grasped  now  one,  now  another,  by  the 
arm,  and  shook  him  ;  and  he  placed  one  of  them  against 
the  wall  —  time  wasted.  He  no  longer  knew  what  to 
do,  and  he  entreated  them.  "  Why  do  you  behave  like 
this  ?  Do  you  wish  me  to  punish  you  by  force  ? " 
Then  he  thumped  the  little  table  with  his  fist,  and 
shouted  in  a  voice  of  wrath  and  lamentation,  "  Si- 
lence !  silence  !  silence  !  "  It  was  difficult  to  hear  him. 
But  the  uproar  continued  to  increase.  Franti  threw 
a  paper  dart  at  him,  some  uttered  cat-calls,  others 
thumped  each  other  on  the  head ;  the  hurly-burly  was 
indescribable  ;  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  beadle  en- 
tered and  said  :  — 

"  Siguor  Master,  the  head-master  has  sent  for  you." 
The  master  rose  and  went  out  in  haste,  with  a  gesture 
of  despair.  Then  the  tumult  began  more  vigorously 
than  ever.  But  suddenly  Garrone  sprang  up,  his  face 
all  convulsed,  and  his  fists  clenched,  and  shouted  in  a 
voice  choked  with  rage  :  — 

"  Stop  this !  You  are  brutes!  You  take  advan- 
tage of  him  because  he  is  kind.  If  he  were  to  bruise 
your  bones  for  3~ou,  you  would  be  as  abject  as  dogs. 
You  are  a  pack  of  cowards !  The  first  one  of  you  that 
jeers  at  him  again,  I  shall  wait  for  outside,  and  I  will 
break  his  teeth,  —  I  swear  it,  - — even  under  the  very 
e^-es  of  his  father  ! " 

All  became  silent.  Ah,  what  a  fine  thing  it  was  to 
see  Garrone,  with  his  eyes  darting  flames  !  He  seemed 
to  be  a  furious  young  lion.  He  stared  at  the  most 
daring,  one  after  the  other,  and  all  hung  their  heads. 
When  the  assistant  re-entered,  with  red  eyes,  not  a 
breath  was  audible.  He  stood  in  amazement ;  then, 


STARDI'S  LIBRARY.  81 

catching  sight  of  Garrone,  who  was  still  all  fiery  and 
trembling,  he  understood  it  all,  and  he  said  to  him,  with 
accents  of  great  affection,  as  he  might  have  spoken  to 
a  brother,  "  I  thank  you,  Garrone." 


STARDI'S   LIBRARY. 

I  have  been  home  with  Stardi,  who  lives  opposite  the 
schoolhouse  ;  and  I  really  experienced  a  feeling  of  envy 
at  the  sight  of  his  library.  He  is  not  at  all  rich,  and 
he  cannot  buy  many  books  ;  but  he  preserves  his  school- 
books  with  great  care,  as  well  as  those  which  his  rela- 
tives give  him ;  and  he  lays  aside  every  soldo  that  is 
given  to  him,  and  spends  it  at  the  bookseller's.  In  this 
way  he  has  collected  a  little  library ;  and  when  his 
father  perceived  that  he  had  this  passion,  he  bought 
him  a  handsome  bookcase  of  walnut  wood,  with  a  green 
curtain,  and  he  has  had  most  of  his  volumes  bound  for 
him  in  the  colors  that  he  likes.  Thus  when  he  draws  a 
little  cord,  the  green  curtain  runs  aside,  and  three  rows 
of  books  of  even*  color  become  visible,  all  ranged  in 
order,  and  shining,  with  gilt  titles  on  their  backs,  — 
books  of  tales,  of  travels,  and  of  poetry  ;  and  some 
illustrated  ones.  And  he  understands  how  to  combine 
colors  well :  he  places  the  white  volumes  next  to  the  red 
ones,  the  yellow  next  the  black,  the  blue  beside  the 
white,  so  that,  viewed  from  a  distance,  they  make  a 
very  fine  appearance  ;  and  he  amuses  himself  by  varying 
the  combinations.  He  has  made  himself  a  catalogue. 
He  is  like  a  librarian.  He  is  always  standing  near  his 
books,  dusting  them,  turning  over  the  leaves,  examining 
the  bindings  :  it  is  something  to  see  the  care  with  which 
he  opens  them,  with  his  big,  stubby  hands,  and  blows 


82  STARDI'S  LIBRARY. 

between  the  pages  :  then  they  seem  perfectly  new  again. 
I  have  worn  out  all  of  mine.  It  is  a  festival  for  him  to 
polish  off  every  new  book  that  he  buys,  to  put  it  in  its 
place,  and  to  pick  it  up  again  to  take  another  look  at  it 
from  all  sides,  and  to  brood  over  it  as  a  treasure.  He 
showed  me  nothing  else  for  a  whole  hour.  His  eyes 
were  troubling  him,  because  he  had  read  too  much. 
At  a  certain  time  his  father,  who  is  large  and  thickset 
like  himself,  with  a  big  head  like  his,  entered  the  room, 
and  gave  him  two  or  three  taps  on  the  nape  of  the  neck, 
saying  with  that  huge  voice  of  his  :  — 

"What  do  3'ou  think  of  him,  eh?  of  this  head  of 
bronze?  It  is  a  stout  head,  that  will  succeed  in  any- 
thing, I  assure  you  !  " 

And  Stardi  half  closed  his  eyes,  under  these  rough 
caresses,  like  a  big  hunting-dog.  I  do  not  know,  I  did 
not  dare  to  jest  with  him  ;  it  did  not  seem  true  to  me, 
that  he  was  only  a  year  older  than  myself ;  and  when 
he  said  to  me,  "  Farewell  until  we  meet  again,"  at  the 
door,  with  that  face  of  his  that  alwa}'s  seems  wrathful, 
I  came  very  near  replying  to  him,  "  I  salute  you,  sir," 
as  to  a  man.  I  told  my  father  afterwards,  at  home  : 
"  I  don't  understand  it ;  Stardi  has  no  natural  talent, 
he  has  not  fine  manners,  and  his  face  is  almost  ridicu- 
lous ;  yet  he  suggests  ideas  to  me."  And  my  father 
answered,  "  It  is  because  he  has  character."  And  I 
added,  "  During  the  hour  that  I  spent  with  him  he  did 
not  utter  fiftyN  words,  he  did  not  show  me  a  single  play- 
thing, he  did  not  laugh  once  ;  yet  I  liked  to  go  there." 

And  my  father  answered,  "That  is  because  you 
esteem  him." 


THE  SON  OF  THE  BLACKSMITH-IRONMONGER.     83 


THE    SON  OF   THE    BLACKSMITH-IRONMONGER. 

Yes,  but  I  also  esteem  Precossi ;  and  to  say  that  I 
esteem  him  is  not  enough,  —  Precossi,  the  son  of  the 
blacksmith-ironmonger,  —  that  thin  little  fellow,  who 
has  kind,  melancholy  eyes  and  a  frightened  air ;  who 
is  so  timid  that  he  says  to  every  one,  "  Excuse  me"  ; 
who  is  always  sickly,  and  who,  nevertheless,  studies 
so  much.  His  father  returns  home,  intoxicated  with 
brandy,  and  beats  him  without  the  slightest  reason  in 
the  world,  and  flings  his  books  and  his  copy-books  in 
the  air  with  a  backward  turn  of  his  hand ;  and  he 
comes  to  school  with  the  black  and  blue  marks  on  his 
face,  and  sometimes  with  his  face  all  swollen,  and  his 
eyes  inflamed  with  much  weeping.  But  never,  never 
can  he  be  made  to  acknowledge  that  his  father  beats 
him. 

"Your  father  has  been  beating  you,"  his  companions 
say  to  him;  and  he  instantly  exclaims,  "That  is  not 
true  !  it  is  not  true  ! "  for  the  sake  of  not  dishonoring 
his  father. 

"You  did  not  burn  this  leaf,"  the  teacher  says  to 
him,  showing  him  his  work,  half  burned. 

"Yes,"  he  replies,  in  a  trembling  voice;  "I  let  it 
fall  on  the  fire." 

But  we  know  very  well,  nevertheless,  that  his 
drunken  father  overturned  the  table  and  the  light  with 
a  kick,  while  the  boy  was  doing  his  work.  He  lives  in 
a  garret  of  our  house,  on  another  staircase.  The  por- 
tress tells  my  mother  everything :  my  sister  Silvia 
heard  him  screaming  from  the  terrace  one  day,  when 
his  father  had  sent  him  headlong  down  stairs,  because 
he  had  asked  for  a  few  soldi  to  buy  a  grammar.  His 


84      THE  SON  OF  THE  BLACKSMITH-IRONMONGER. 

father  drinks,  but  does  not  work,  and  his  family  suffers 
from  hunger.  How  often  Precossi  comes  to  school  with 
an  empty  stomach  and  nibbles  in  secret  at  a  roll  which 
Garrone  has  given  him,  or  at  an  apple  brought  to  him 
by  the  schoolmistress  with  the  red  feather,  who  was  his 
teacher  in  the  first  lower  class.  But  he  never  says, 
"  I  am  hungry  ;  my  father  does  not  give  me  anything 
to  eat."  His  father  sometimes  comes  for  him,  when 
he  chances  to  be  passing  the  schoolhouse,  —  pallid, 
unsteady  on  his  legs,  with  a  fierce  face,  and  his  hair 
over  his  eyes,  and  his  cap  awry  ;  and  the  poor  boy 
trembles  all  over  when  he  catches  sight  of  him  in  the 
street ;  but  he  immediately  runs  to  meet  him,  with  a 
smile  ;  and  his  father  does  not  appear  to  see  him,  but 
seems  to  be  thinking  of  something  else.  Poor  Pre- 
cossi !  He  mends  his  torn  copy-books,  borrows" books 
to  study  his  lessons,  fastens  the  fragments  of  his  shirt 
together  with  pins  ;  and  it  is  a  pity  to  see  him  perform- 
ing his  gymnastics,  with  those  huge  shoes  in  which  he  is 
fairly  lost,  in  those  trousers  which  drag  on  the  ground, 
and  that  jacket  which  is  too  long,  and  those  huge  sleeves 
turned  back  to  the  very  elbows.  And  he  studies  ;  he 
does  his  best ;  he  would  be  one  of  the  first,  if  he  were 
able  to  work  at  home  in  peace.  This  morning  he  came 
to  school  with  the  marks  of  finger-nails  on  one  cheek, 
and  they  all  began  to  say  to  him  :  — 

"  It  is  your  father,  and  you  cannot  deny  it  this  time  ; 
it  was  your  father  who  did  that  to  you.  Tell  the  head- 
master about  it,  and  he  will  have  him  called  to  account 
for  it." 

But  he  sprang  up,  all  flushed,  with  a  voice  trembling 
with  indignation  :  — 

"It's  not  true!  it's  not  true!  My  father  never 
beats  me !  " 


A  FINE  VISIT.  85 

But  afterwards,  during  lesson  time,  his  tears  fell 
upon  the  bench,  and  when  any  one  looked  at  him,  he 
tried  to  smile,  in  order  that  he  might  not  show  it. 
Poor  Precossi !  To-morrow  Derossi,  Coretti,  and 
Nelli  are  coming  to  my  house  ;  I  want  to  tell  him  to 
come  also ;  and  I  want  to  have  him  take  luncheon 
with  me  :  I  want  to  treat  him  to  books,  and  turn  the 
house  upside  down  to  amuse  him,  and  to  fill  his  pockets 
with  fruit,  for  the  sake  of  seeing  him  contented  for 
once,  poor  Precossi !  who  is  so  good  and  so  courageous. 


A  FINE  VISIT. 

Thursday,  12th. 

This  has  been  one  of  the  finest  Thursdays  of  the 
year  for  me.  At  two  o'clock,  precisely,  Derossi  and 
Coretti  came  to  the  house,  with  Nelli,  the  hunchback  : 
PrecossH  was  not  permitted  by  his  father  to  come. 
Derossi  and  Coretti  were  still  laughing  at  their  en- 
counter with  Crossi,  the  son  of  the  vegetable-seller,  in 
the  street,  —  the  boy  with  the  useless  arm  and  the  red 
hair,  — who  was  carrying  a  huge  cabbage  for  sale,  and 
with  the  soldo  which  he  was  to  receive  for  the  cabbage 
he  was  to  go  and  buy  a  pen.  He  was  perfectly  happy 
because  his  father  had  written  from  America  that  they 
might  expect  him  any  da}*.  Oh,  the  two  beautiful 
hours  that  we  passed  together !  Derossi  and  Coretti 
are  the  two  jolli^st  boys  in  the  school ;  my  father  fell 
in  love  with  them.  Coretti  had  on  his  chocolate- 
colored  tights  and  his  catskin  cap.  He  is  a  lively  imp, 
who  wants  to  be  always  doing  something,  stirring  up 
something,  setting  something  in  motion.  He  had 
already  cai'ried  on  his  shoulders  half  a  cartload  of 


86  ^  FINE  VISIT. 

wood,  early  that  morning ;  nevertheless,  he  galloped 
all  over  the  house,  taking  note  of  everything  and  talk- 
ing incessantly,  as  sprightly  and  nimble  as  a  squirrel ; 
and  passing  into  the  kitchen,  he  asked  the  cook  how 
much  we  had  to  pay  a  myriagramme  for  wood,  because 
his  father  sells  it  at  forty-five  centesimi.  He  is  always 
talking  of  his  father,  of  the  time  when  he  was  a  soldier 
in  the  49th  regiment,  at  the  battle  of  Custoza,  where  he 
served  in  the  squadron  of  Prince  Umberto ;  and  he  is 
so  gentle  in  his  manners  !  It  makes  no  difference  that 
he  was  born  and  brought  up  surrounded  by  wood :  he 
has  nobility  in  his  blood,  in  his  heart,  as  my  father  says. 
And  Derossi  amused  us  greatly  ;  he  knows  geography 
like  a  master  :  he  shut  his  eyes  and  said  :  — 

"There,  I  see  the  whole  of  Italy  ;  the  Apennines, 
which  extend  to  the  Ionian  Sea,  the  rivers  flowing  here 
and  there,  the  white  cities,  the  gulfs,  the  blue  bays,  the 
green  islands  ; "  and  he  repeated  the  names  correctly 
in  their  order  and  very  rapidly,  as  though  he  were  read- 
ing them  on  the  map  ;  and  at  the  sight  of  him  standing 
thus,  with  his  head  held  high,  with  all  his  golden  curls, 
with  his  closed  eyes,  and  all  dressed  in  bright  blue  with 
gilt  buttons,  as  straight  and  handsome  as  a  statue,  we 
were  all  filled  with  admiration.  In  one  hour  he  had 
learned  by  heart  nearly  three  pages,  which  he  is  to 
recite  the  day  after  to-morrow,  for  the  anniversary  of 
the  funeral  of  King  Vittorio.  And  even  Nelli  gazed 
at  him  in  wonder  and  affection,  as  he  rubbed  the  folds 
of  his  apron  of  black  cloth,  and  smiled  with  his  clear 
and  mournful  eyes.  This  visit  gave  me  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure  ;  it  left  something  like  sparks  in  my  mind  and 
my  heart.  And  it  pleased  me,  too,  when  they  went 
away,  to  see  poor  Nelli  between  the  other  two  tall, 
strong  fellows,  who  carried  him  home  on  their  arms, 


THE  FUNERAL   OF    VITTORIO  EMANUELE.         87 

and  made  him  laugh  as  I  have  never  seen  him  laugh 
before.  On  returning  to  the  dining-room,  I  perceived 
that  the  picture  representing  Rigoletto,  the  hunch- 
backed jester,  was  no  longer  there.  My  father  had 
taken  it  away  in  order  that  Nelli  might  not  see  it. 


THE   FUNERAL  OF   VITTORIO   EMANUELE. 

January,  17th. 

To-day,  at  two  o'clock,  as  soon  as  we  entered  the 
schoolroom,  the  master  called  up  Derossi,  who  went 
and  took  his  place  in  front  of  the  little  table  facing  us, 
and  began  to  recite,  in  his  vibrating  tones,  gradually 
raising  his  limpid  voice,  and  growing  flushed  in  the 
face  :  — 

"  Four  years  ago,  on  this  day,  at  this  hour,  there 
arrived  in  front  of  the  Pantheon  at  Rome,  the  funeral 
car  which  bore  tLe  body  of  Vittorio  Emanuele  II.,  the 
first  king  of  Italy,  dead  after  a  reign  of  twenty-nine 
years,  during  which  the  great  Italian  fatherland,  broken 
up  into  seven  states,  and  oppressed  by  strangers  and 
by  tyrants,  had  been  brought  back  to  life  in  one  single 
state,  free  and  independent ;  after  a  reign  of  twenty- 
nine  years,  which  he  had  made  illustrious  and  beneficent 
with  his  valor,  with  loyalty,  with  boldness  amid  perils, 
with  wisdom  amid  triumphs,  with  constancy  amid  mis- 
fortunes. The  funeral  car  arrived,  laden  with  wreaths, 
after  having  traversed  Rome  under  a  rain  of  flowers, 
amid  the  silence  of  an  immense  and  sorrowing  multi- 
tude, which  had  assembled  from  every  part  of  Italy ; 
preceded  by  a  legion  of  generals  and  by  a  throng  of 
ministers  and  princes,  followed  by  a  retinue  of  crippled 
veterans,  by  a  forest  of  banners,  by  the  envoys  ot 


88         THE  FUNERAL   OF  VITTOIUO  EMANUELE. 

three  hundred  towns,  by  everything  which  represents 
the  power  and  the  glory  of  a  people,  it  arrived  before 
the  august  temple  where  the  tomb  awaited  it.  At  that 
moment  twelve  cuirassiers  removed  the  coffin  from  the 
car.  At  that  moment  Italy  bade  her  last  farewell  to 
her  dead  king,  to  her  old  king  whom  she  had  loved  so 
dearly,  the  last  farewell  to  her  soldier,  to  her  father, 
to  the  twenty-nine  most  fortunate  and  most  blessed 
years  in  her  history.  It  was  a  grand  and  solemn  mo- 
ment. The  looks,  the  souls,  of  all  were  quivering  at  the 
sight  of  that  coffin  and  the  darkened  banners  of  the 
eighty  regiments  of  the  army  of  Italy,  borne  by  eighty 
officers,  drawn  up  in  line  on  its  passage  :  for  Italy  was 
there  in  those  eighty  tokens,  which  recalled  the  thou- 
sands of  dead,  the  torrents  of  blood,  our  most  sacred 
glories,  our  most  holy  sacrifices,  our  most  tremendous 
griefs.  The  coffin,  borne  by  the  cuirassiers,  passed, 
and  then  the  banners  bent  forward  all  together  in  salute, 
—  the  banners  of  the  new  regiments,  the  old,  tattered 
banners  of  Goito,  of  Pastrengo,  of  Santa  Lucia,  of 
Novara,  of  the  Crimea,  of  Palestro,  of  San  Martino, 
of  Castelfidardo ;  eighty  black  veils  fell,  a  hundred 
medals  clashed  against  the  staves,  and  that  sonorous 
and  confused  uproar,  which  stirred  the  blood  01  all,  was 
like  the  sound  of  a  thousand  human  voices  saying  all 
together,  '  Farewell,  good  king,  gallant  king,  loyal 
king !  Thou  wilt  live  in  the  heart  of  thy  people  as 
long  as  the  sun  shall  shine  over  Italy.' 

k'  After  this,  the  banners  rose  heavenward  once  more, 
and  King  Vittorio  entered  into  the  immortal  glory  of 
the  tomb." 


FRANTI  EXPELLED  FROM  SCHOOL.  89 


FRANTI  EXPELLED   FROM   SCHOOL. 

Saturday,  21st. 

Only  one  boy  was  capable  of  laughing  while  Derossi 
was  declaiming  the  funeral  oration  of  the  king,  and 
Franti  laughed.  I  detest  that  fellow.  He  is  wicked. 
When  a  father  comes  to  the  school  to  reprove  his 
son,  he  enjpys  it ;  when  any  one  cries,  he  laughs.  He 
trembles  before  Garrone,  and  he  strikes  the  little  mason 
because  he  is  small ;  he  torments  Crossi  because  he  has 
a  helpless  arm  ;  he  ridicules  Precossi,  whom  every  one 
respects  ;  he  even  jeers  at  Robetti,  that  boy  in  the 
second  grade  who  walks  on  crutches,  through  having 
saved  a  child.  He  provokes  those  who  are  weaker 
than  himself,  and  when  it  comes  to  blows,  he  grows 
ferocious  and  tries  to  do  harm.  There  is  something 
beneath  that  low  forehead,  in  those  turbid  eyes,  which 
he  keeps  nearly  concealed  under  the  visor  of  his  small 
cap  of  waxed  cloth,  which  inspires  a  shudder.  He  fears 
no  one ;  he  laughs  in  the  master's  face  ;  he  steals  when 
he  gets  a  chance ;  he  denies  it  with  an  impenetrable 
countenance  ;  he  is  always  engaged  in  a  quarrel  with 
some  one  ;  he  brings  big  pins  to  school,  to  prick  his 
neighbors  with ;  he  tears  the  buttons  from  his  own 
jackets  and  from  those  of  others,  and  plays  with  them : 
his  paper,  books,  and  copy-books  are  all  crushed,  torn, 
dirt}' ;  his  ruler  is  jagged,  his  pens  gnawed,  his  nails 
bitten,  his  clothes  covered  with  stains  and  rents  which 
he  has  got  in  his  brawls.  They  say  that  his  mother  has 
fallen  ill  from  the  trouble  that  he  causes  her,  and  that 
his  father  has  driven  him  from  the  house  three  times  ; 
his  mother  comes  every  now  and  then  to  make  inquiries, 
and  she  always  goes  away  in  tears.  He  hates  school, 


90  FRANTI  EXPELLED  FROM  SCHOOL. 

he  hates  his  companions,  he  hates  the  teacher.  The 
master  sometimes  pretends  not  to  see  his  rascalities, 
and  he  behaves  all  the  worse.  He  tried  to  get  a  hold 
on  him  In*  kind-  treatment,  and  the  boy  ridiculed  him 
for  it.  He  said  terrible  things  to  him,  and  the  boy 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  as  though  he  were 
crying  ;  but  he  was  laughing.  He  was  suspended  from 
school  for  three  days,  and  he  returned  more  perverse 
and  insolent  than  before.  Derossi  said  to  him  one  day, 
"  Stop  it !  don't  you  see  how  much  the  teacher  suffers  ?  " 
and  the  other  threatened  to  stick  a  nail  into  his  stomach. 
But  this  morning,  at  last,  he  got  himself  driven  out  like 
a  dog.  While  the  master  was  giving  to  Garrone  the 
rough  draft  of  TJie  Sardinian.  Drummer-Boy,  the 
monthly  story  for  January,  to  copy,  he  threw  a  petard 
on  the  floor,  which  exploded,  making  the  schoolroom 
resound  as  from  a  discharge  of  musketry.  The  whole 
class  was  startled  by  it.  The  master  sprang  to  his 
feet,  and  cried  :  — 

"  Franti,  leave  the  school !  " 

The  latter  retorted,  "  It  wasn't  I ;  "  but  he  laughed. 
The  master  repeated  :  — 

"Go!" 

"  I  won't  stir,"  he  answered. 

Then  the  master  lost  his  temper,  and  flung  himself 
upon  him,  seized  him  by  the  arms,  and  tore  him  from 
his  seat.  He  resisted,  ground  his  teeth,  and  made  him 
carry  him  out  by  main  force.  The  master  bore  him 
thus,  heavy  as  he  was,  to  the  head-master,  and  then 
returned  to  the  schoolroom  alone  and  seated  himself  at 
his  little  table,  with  his  head  clutched  in  his  hands, 
gasping,  and  with  an  expression  of  such  weariness  and 
trouble  that  it  was  painful  to  look  at  him. 

"  After  teaching   school   for  thirty   years ! "  he   ex- 


THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY.  $\ 

claimed  sadly,  shaking  his  head.  No  one  breathed. 
His  hands  were  trembling  with  fury,  and  the  perpen- 
dicular wrinkle  that  he  has  in  the  middle  of  his  fore- 
head was  so  deep  that  it  seemed  like  a  wound.  Poor 
master !  All  felt  sorry  for  him.  Derossi  rose  and 
said,  "Signer  Master,  do  not  grieve.  We  love  you." 
And  then  he  grew  a  little  more  tranquil,  and  said,  "  We 
will  go  on  with  the  lesson,  boys." 


THE   SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY. 

(Monthly  Story.) 

On  the  first  day  of  the  battle  of  Custoza,  on  the  24th 
of  July,  1848,  about  sixty  soldiers,  belonging  to  an 
infantry  regiment  of  our  army,  who  had  been  sent  to  an 
elevation  to  occupy  an  isolated  house,  suddenly  found 
themselves  assaulted  by  two  companies  of  Austrian 
soldiers,  who,  showering  them  with  bullets  from  various 
quarters,  hardly  gave  them  time  to  take  refuge  in  the 
house  and  to  barricade  the  doors,  after  leaving  several 
dead  and  wounded  on  the  field.  Having  barred  the 
doors,  our  men  ran  in  haste  to  the  windows  of  the 
ground  floor  and  the  first  story,  and  began  to  fire 
brisk  discharges  at  their  assailants,  who,  approaching 
gradually,  ranged  in  a  semicircle,  made  vigorous 
reply.  The  sixty  Italian  soldiers  were  commanded  by 
two  non-commissioned  officers  and  a  captain,  a  tall, 
dry,  austere  old  man,  with  white  hair  and  mustache ; 
and  with  them  there  was  a  Sardinian  drummer-boy,  a 
lad  of  a  little  over  fourteen,  who  did  not  look  twelve, 
small,  with  an  olive-brown  complexion,  and  two  small, 
deep,  sparkling  eyes.  The  captain  directed  the  de- 
fence from  a  room  on  the  first  floor,  launching  com- 


92  THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY. 

mands  that  seemed  like  pistol-sbots,  and  no  sign  of 
emotion  was  visible  on  his  iron  countenance.  The 
drummer-boy,  a  little  pale,  but  firm  on  his  legs,  had 
jumped  upon  a  table,  and  was  holding  fast  to  the  wall 
and  stretching  out  his  neck  in  order  to  gaze  out  of  the 
windows,  and  athwart  the  smoke  on  the  fields  he  saw 
the  white  uniforms  of  the  Austrians,  who  were  slowly 
advancing.  The  house  was  situated  at  the  summit  of 
a  steep  declivity,  and  on  the  side  of  the  slope  it  had 
but  one  high  window,  corresponding  to  a  chamber  in 
the  roof :  therefore  the  Austrians  did  not  threaten  the 
house  from  that  quarter,  and  the  slope  was  free  ;  the 
fire  beat  only  upon  the  front  and  the  two  ends. 

But  it  was  an  infernal  fire,  a  hailstorm  of  leaden 
bullets,  which  split  the  walls  on  the  outside,  ground  the 
tiles  to  powder,  and  in  the  interior  cracked  ceilings, 
furniture,  window-frames,  and  door-frames,  sending 
splinters  of  wood  flying  through  the  air,  and  clouds  of 
plaster,  and  fragments  of  kitchen  utensils  and  glass, 
whizzing,  and  rebounding,  and  breaking  everything 
with  a  noise  like  the  crushing  of  a  skull.  From  time 
to  time  one  of  the  soldiers  who  were  firing  from  the 
windows  fell  crashing  back  to  the  floor,  and  was 
dragged  to  one  side.  Some  staggered  from  room  to 
room,  pressing  their  hands  on  their  wounds.  There 
was  already  one  dead  body  in  the  kitchen,  with  its 
forehead  cleft.  The  semicircle  of  the  enemy  was 
drawing  together. 

At  a  certain  point  the  captain,  hitherto  impassive, 
was  seen  to  make  a  gesture  of  uneasiness,  and  to  leave 
the  room  with  huge  strides,  followed  by  a  sergeant. 
Three  minutes  later  the  sergeant  returned  on  a  run,  and 
summoned  the  drummer-boy,  making  him  a  sign  to 
follow.  The  lad  followed  him  at  a  quick  pace  up  the 


THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY.  <J3 

wooden  staircase,  and  entered  with  him  into  a  bare 
garret,  where  he  saw  the  captain  writing  with  a  pencil 
on  a  sheet  of  paper,  as  he  leaned  against  the  little 
window ;  and  on  the  floor  at  his  feet  lay  the  well-rope. 

The  captain  folded  the  sheet  of  paper,  and  said 
sharply,  as  he  fixed  his  cold  gray  eyes,  before  which 
all  the  soldiers  trembled,  on  the  boy  :  — 

"  Drummer !  " 

The  drummer-boy  put  his  hand  to  his  visor. 

The  captain  said,  "  You  have  courage." 

The  boy's  eyes  flashed. 

"  Yes,  captain,"  he  replied. 

"  Look  down  there,"  said  the  captain,  pushing  him 
to  the  window;  "on  the  plain,  near  the  houses  of 
Villafranca,  where  there  is  a  gleam  of  bayonets.  There 
stand  our  troops,  motionless.  You  are  to  take  this 
billet,  tie  yourself  to  the  rope,  descend  from  the  win- 
dow, get  down  that  slope  in  an  instant,  make  your 
way  across  the  fields,  arrive  at  our  men,  and  give  the 
note  to  the  first  officer  you  see.  Throw  off  your  belt 
and  knapsack." 

The  drummer  took  off  his  belt  and  knapsack  and 
thrust  the  note  into  his  breast  pocket ;  the  sergeant 
flung  the  rope  out  of  the  window,  and  held  one  end  of 
it  clutched  fast  in  his  hands  ;  the  captain  helped  the 
lad  to  clamber  out  of  the  small  window,  with  his  back 
turned  to  the  landscape. 

"Now  look  out,"  he  said;  "the  salvation  of  this 
detachment  lies  in  your  courage  and  in  your  legs." 

"  Trust  to  me,  Signer  Captain,"  replied  the  drummer- 
boy,  as  he  let  himself  down. 

"  Bend  over  on  the  slope,"  said  the  captain,  grasp- 
ing the  rope,  with  the  sergeant. 

"  Never  fear." 


94  THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY. 

"God  aid  you!" 

In  a  few  moments  the  drummer-boy  was  on  the 
ground ;  the  sergeant  drew  in  the  rope  and  disap- 
peared ;  the  captain  stepped  impetuously  in  front  of 
the  window  and  saw  the  boy  flying  down  the  slope. 

He  was  already  hoping  that  he  had  succeeded  in 
escaping  unobserved,  when  five  or  six  little  puffs  of 
powder,  which  rose  from  the  earth  in  front  of  and 
behind  the  lad,  warned  him  that  he  had  been  espied 
by  the  Austrians,  who  were  firing  down  upon  him 
from  the  top  of  the  elevation :  these  little  clouds  were 
thrown  into  the  air  by  the  bullets.  But  the  drummer 
continued  to  run  at  a  headlong  speed.  All  at  once  he 
fell  to  the  earth.  "  He  is  killed  !  "  roared  the  captain, 
biting  his  fist.  But  before  he  had  uttered  the  word  he 
saw  the  drummer  spring  up  again.  "Ah,  only  a  fall," 
he  said  to  himself,  and  drew  a  long  breath.  The 
drummer,  in  fact,  set  out  again  at  full  speed ;  but  he 
limped.  "  He  has  turned  his  ankle,"  thought  the 
captain.  Again  several  cloudlets  of  powder  smoke 
rose  here  and  there  about  the  lad,  but  ever  more  dis- 
tant. He  was  safe.  The  captain  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion of  triumph.  But  he  continued  to  follow  him  with 
his  eyes,  trembling  because  it  was  an  affair  of  minutes  : 
if  he  did  not  arrive  yonder  in  the  shortest  possible 
time  with  that  billet,  which  called  for  instant  succor, 
either  all  his  soldiers  would  be  killed  or  he  should  be 
obliged  to  surrender  himself  a  prisoner  with  them. 

The  boy  ran  rapidly  for  a  space,  then  relaxed  his 
pace  and  limped,  then  resumed  his  course,  but  grew 
constantly  more  fatigued,  and  every  little  while  he 
stumbled  and  paused. 

"Perhaps  a  bullet  has  grazed  him,"  thought  the 
captain,  and  he  noted  all  his  movements,  quivering 


THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY.  95 

with  excitement ;  and  he  encouraged  him,  he  spoke  to 
him,  as  though  he  could  hear  him ;  he  measured 
incessant!}',  with  a  flashing  eye,  the  space  intervening 
between  the  fleeing  bo}'  and  that  gleam  of  arms  which 
he  could  see  in  the  distance  on  the  plain  amid  the  fields 
of  grain  gilded  by  the  sun.  And  meanwhile  he  heard 
the  whistle  and  the  crash  of  the  bullets  in  the  rooms 
beneath,  the  imperious  and  angry  shouts  of  the  ser- 
geants and  the  officers,  the  piercing  laments  of  the 
wounded,  the  ruin  of  furniture,  and  the  fall  of  rubbish. 

"On!  courage !"  he  shouted,  following  the  far-off 
drummer  with  his  glance.  "Forward!  run!  He 
halts,  that  cursed  boy  !  Ah,  he  resumes  his  course  !  " 

An  officer  came  panting  to  tell  him  that  the  enemy, 
without  slackening  their  fire,  were  flinging  out  a  white 
flag  to  hint  at  a  surrender.  "  Don't  reply  to  them  !  " 
he  cried,  without  detaching  his  eyes  from  the  boy, 
who  was  already  on  the  plain,  but  who  was  no  longer 
running,  and  who  seemed  to  be  dragging  himself  along 
with  difficulty. 

"Go!  run!"  said  the  captain,  clenching  his  teeth 
and  his  fists ;  "let  them  kill  you ;  die,  you  rascal,  but 
go!"  Then  he  uttered  a  horrible  oath.  "Ah,  the 
infamous  poltroon  !  he  has  sat  down ! "  In  fact,  the 
boy,  whose  head  he  had  hitherto  been  able  to  see 
projecting  above  a  field  of  grain,  had  disappeared,  as 
though  he  had  fallen  ;  but,  after  the  lapse  of  a  minute, 
his  head  came  into  sight  again ;  finally,  it  was  lost 
behind  the  hedges,  and  the  captain  saw  it  no  more. 

Then  he  descended  impetuously ;  the  bullets  were 
coming  in  a  tempest ;  the  rooms  were  encumbered  with 
the  wounded,  some  of  whom  were  whirling  round  like 
drunken  men,  and  clutching  at  the  furniture  ;  the  walls 
and  floor  were  bespattered  with  blood  ;  corpses  !ay 


96  THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY. 

across  the  doorways ;  the  lieutenant  had  had  his  arm 
shattered  by  a  ball ;  smoke  and  clouds  of  dust  envel- 
oped everything. 

"  Courage  !  "  shouted  the  captain.  "  Stand  firm  at 
your  post !  Succor  is  on  the  way !  Courage  for  a 
little  while  longer  !  " 

The  Austrians  had  approached  still  nearer :  their 
contorted  faces  were  already  visible  through  the  smoke . 
and  amid  the  crash  of  the  firing  their  savage  and  offen- 
sive shouts  were  audible,  as  they  uttered  insults,  sug- 
gested a  surrender,  and  threatened  slaughter.  Some 
soldiers  were  terrified,  and  withdrew  from  the  windows  ; 
the  sergeants  drove  them  forward  again.  But  the  fire  of 
the  defence  weakened  ;  discouragement  made  its  appear- 
ance on  all  faces.  It  was  not  possible  to  protract  the 
resistance  longer.  At  a  given  moment  the  fire  of  the 
Austrians  slackened,  and  a  thundering  voice  shouted, 
first  in.  German  and  then  in  Italian,  "  Surrender!" 

"  No  !  "  howled  the  captain  from  a  window. 

And  the  firing  recommenced  more  fast  and  furious 
on  both  sides.  More  soldiers  fell.  Already  more  than 
one  window  was  without  defenders.  The  fatal  moment 
was  near  at  hand.  The  captain  shouted  through  his 
teeth,  in  a  strangled  voice,  "  They  are  not  corning ! 
they  are  not  coming ! "  and  rushed  wildly  about, 
twisting  his  sword  about  in  his  convulsively  clenched 
hand,  and  resolved  to  die ;  when  a  sergeant  descend- 
ing from  the  garret,  uttered  a  piercing  shout,  "The}1 
are  coming!"  "They  are  coming!"  repeated  the 
captain,  with  a  en"  of  joy. 

At  that  cry  all,  well  and  wounded,  sergeants  and 
officers,  rushed  to  the  windows,  and  the  resistance 
became  fierce  once  more.  A  few  moments  later  a  sort 
of  uncertainty  was  noticeable,  and  a  beginning  of  dis- 


'THEN  THE  TROOP  DARTED  OUT  OF  THE  DOOR."  —  Page  97. 


THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY.  97 

order  among  the  foe.  Suddenly  the  captain  hastily 
collected  a  little  troop  in  the  room  on  the  ground  floor, 
in  order  to  make  a  sortie  with  fixed  bayonets.  Then 
he  flew  up  stairs.  Scarcely  had  he  arrived  there  when 
they  heard  a  hasty  trampling  of  feet,  accompanied  by 
a  formidable  hurrah,  and  saw  from  the  windows  the 
two-pointed  hats  of  the  Italian  carabineers  advancing 
through  the  smoke,  a  squadron  rushing  forward  at 
great  speed,  and  a  lightning  flash  of-  blades  whirling 
in  the  air,  as  they  fell  on  heads,  on  shoulders,  and  on 
backs.  Then  the  troop  darted  out  of  the  door,  with 
bayonets  lowered ;  the  enemy  wavered,  were  thrown 
into  disorder,  and  turned  their  backs  ;  the  field  was  left 
unincumbered,  the  house  was  free,  and  a  little  later 
two  battalions  of  Italian  infantry  and  two  cannon 
occupied  the  eminence. 

The  captain,  with  the  soldiers  that  remained  to  him, 
rejoined  his  regiment,  went  on  fighting,  and  was  slightly 
wounded  in  the  left  hand  by  a  bullet  on  the  rebound, 
in  the  final  assault  with  bayonets. 

The  day  ended  with  the  victory  on  our  side. 

But  on  the  following  day,  the  conflict  having  begun 
again,  the  Italians  were  overpowered  by  the  over- 
whelming numbers  of  the  Austrians,  in  spite  of  a  val- 
orous resistance,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  27th  they 
sadly  retreated  towards  the  Mincio. 

The  captain,  although  wounded,  made  the  march  on 
foot  with  his  soldiers,  weary  and  silent,  and,  arrived  at 
the  close  of  the  day  at  Goito,  on  the  Miucio,  he  imme- 
diately sought  out  his  lieutenant,  who  had  been  picked 
up  with  his  arm  shattered,  by  our  ambulance  corps,  and 
who  must  have  arrived  before  him.  He  was  directed 
to  a  church,  where  the  field  hospital  had  been  installed 
in  haste.  Thither  he  betook  himself.  The  church  was 


98  THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY, 

full  of  wounded  men,  ranged  in  two  lines  of  beds,  and 
on  mattresses  spread  on  the  floor ;  two  doctors  and 
numerous  assistants  were  going  and  coming,  busily  oc- 
cupied ;  and  suppressed  cries  and  groans  were  audible. 

No  sooner  had  the  captain  entered  than  he  halted  and 
cast  a  glance  around,  in  search  of  his  officer. 

At  that  moment  he  heard  himself  called  in  a  weak 
voice, —  "Signer  Captain!"  He  turned  round.  It 
was  his  drummer-boy.  He  was  lying  on  a  cot  bed, 
covered  to  the  breast  with  a  coarse  window  curtain,  in 
red  and  white  squares,  with  his  arms  on  the  outside, 
pale  and  thin,  but  with  eyes  which  still  sparkled  like 
black  gems. 

"Are  you  here?"  asked  the  captain,  amazed,  but 
still  sharply.  "  Bravo  !  You  did  your  duty." 

"  I  did  all  that  I  could,"  replied  the  drummer-boy. 

"Were  you  wounded?"  said  the  captain,  seeking 
with  his  e3'es  for  his  officer  in  the  neighboring  beds. 

"  What  could  one  expect?  "  said  the  lad,  who  gained 
courage  by  speaking,  expressing  the  lofty  satisfaction 
of  having  been  wounded  for  the  first  time,  without 
which  he  would  not  have  dared  to  open  his  mouth  in 
the  presence  of  this  captain;  "  I  had  a  fine  run,  all 
bent  over,  but  suddenly  they  caught  sight  of  me.  I 
should  have  arrived  twenty  minutes  earlier  if  they  had 
not  hit  me.  Luckily,  I  soon  came  across  a  captain  of 
the  staff,  to  whom  I  gave  the  note.  But  it  was  hard 
work  to  get  down  after  that  caress  !  I  was  dying  of 
thirst.  I  was  afraid  that  I  should  not  get  there  at  all. 
I  wept  with  rage  at  the  thought  that  at  every  moment 
of  delay  another  man  was  setting  out  yonder  for  the 
other  world.  But  enough  !  I  did  what  I  could.  I  am 
content.  But,  with  your  permission,  captain,  you 
should  look  to  yourself :  you  are  losing  blood." 


THE  SARDINIAN  DRUMMER-BOY.  99 

Several  drops  of  blood  had  in  fact  trickled  down  on 
the  captain's  fingers  from  his  imperfectly  bandaged 
palm. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  me  give  the  bandage  a 
turn,  captain?  Hold  it  here  a  minute." 

The  captain  held  out  his  left  hand,  and  stretched  out 
his  right  to  help  the  lad  to  loosen  the  knot  and  to  tie 
it  again  ;  but  no  sooner  had  the  boy  raised  himself 
from  his  pillow  than  he  turned  pale  and  was  obliged  to 
support  his  head  once  more. 

"That  will  do,  that  will  do,"  said  the  captain,  looking 
at  him  and  withdrawing  his  bandaged  hand,  which  the 
other  tried  to  retain.  "  Attend  to  your  own  affairs, 
instead  of  thinking  of  others,  for  things  that  are  not 
severe  may  become  serious  if  they  are  neglected." 

The  drummer-boy  shook  his  head. 

"  But  you,"  said  the  captain,  observing  him  atten- 
tively, "  must  have  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood  to  be  as 
weak  as  this." 

"Must  have  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood  !"  replied  the 
boy,  with  a  smile.  "Something  else  besides  blood: 
look  here."  And  with  one  movement  he  drew  aside 
the  coverlet. 

The  captain  started  back  a  pace  in  horror. 

The  lad  had  but  one  leg.  His  left  leg  had  been 
amputated  above  the  knee ;  the  stump  was  swathed  in 
blood-stained  cloths. 

At  that  moment  a  small,  plump,  military  surgeon 
passed,  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  "  Ah,  captain,"  he  said, 
rapidly,  nodding  towards  the  drummer,  "this  is  an 
unfortunate  case  ;  there  is  a  leg  that  might  have  been 
saved  if  he  had  not  exerted  himself  in  such  a  crazy 
manner  —  that  cursed  inflammation  !  It  had  to  be  cut 
off  away  up  here.  Oh,  but  he's  a  brave  lad.  I  can 


100  THE  LOVE  OF  COUNTRY. 

assure  you  !  He  never  shed  a  tear,  nor  uttered  a  cry ! 
He  was  proud  of  being  an  Italian  boy,  while  I  was 
performing  the  operation,  upon  my  word  of  honor.  He 
comes  of  a  good  race,  by  Heavens  !  "  And  away  he 
went,  on  a  run. 

The  captain  wrinkled  his  heavy  white  brows,  gazed 
fixedly  at  the  drummer-boy,  and  spread  the  coverlet 
over  him  again,  and  slowly,  then  as  though  uncon- 
sciously, and  still  gazing  intently  at  him,  he  raised  his 
hand  to  his  head,  and  lifted  his  cap. 

"Signer  Captain!"  exclaimed  the  boy  in  amaze- 
ment. "  What  are  you  doing,  captain?  To  me  !  " 

And  then  that  rough  soldier,  who  had  never  said  a 
gentle  word  to  an  inferior,  replied  in  an  indescribably 
sweet  and  affectionate  voice,  "I  am  only  a  captain; 
you  are  a  hero." 

Then  he  threw  himself  with  wide-spread  arms  upon 
the  drummer-boy,  and  kissed  him  three  times  upon 
the  heart. 


THE  LOVE  OF  COUNTRY. 

Tuesday,  24th. 

Since  the  tale  of  the  Drummer-boy  has  touched  your  heart, 
it  should  be  easy  for  you  this  morning  to  do  your  composi- 
tion for  examination — Why  you  love  Italy  —  well.  Why 
do  I  love  Italy  ?  Do  not  a  hundred  answers  present  them- 
selves to  you  on  the  instant?  I  love  Italy  because  my 
mother  is  an  Italian  ;  because  the  blood  that  flows  in  my 
veins  'is  Italian ;  because  the  soil  in  which  are  buried  the 
dead  whom  my  mother  mourns  and  whom  my  father  vene- 
rates is  Italian ;  because  the  town  in  which  I  was  born,  the 
language  that  I  speak,  the  books  that  educate  me,  —  because 
my  brother,  my  sister,  my  comrades,  the  great  people  among 
whom  I  live,  and  the  beautiful  nature  which  surrounds  me, 


THE  LOVE  OF  COUNTRY.  101 

and  all  that  I  see,  that  1  love,  that  I  study,  that  I  admire, 
is  Italian.  Oh,  you  cannot  feel  that  affection  in  its  entirety ! 
You  will  feel  it  when  you  become  a  man;  when,  returning 
from  a  long  journey,  after  a  prolonged  absence,  you  step  up 
in  the  morning  to  the  bulwarks  of  the  vessel  and  see  on  the 
distant  horizon  the  lofty  blue  mountains  of  your  country; 
you  will  feel  it  then  in  the  impetuous  flood  of  tenderness 
which  will  fill  your  eyes  with  tears  and  will  wrest  a  cry  from 
your  heart.  You  will  feel  it  in  some  great  and  distant  city, 
in  that  impulse  of  the  soul  which  will  impel  you  from  the 
strange  throng  towards  a  workingman  from  whom  you  have 
heard  in  passing  a  word  in  your  own  tongue.  You  will  feel 
it  in  that  sad  and  proud  wrath  which  will  drive  the  blood 
to  your  brow  when  you  hear  insults  to  your  country  from 
the  mouth  of  a  stranger.  You  will  feel  it  in  more  proud  and 
vigorous  measure  on  the  day  when  the  menace  of  a  hostile 
race  shall  call  forth  a  tempest  of  fire  upon  your  country, 
and  when  you  shall  behold  arms  raging  on  every  side,  youths 
thronging  in  legions,  fathers  kissing  their  children  and  say- 
ing, "  Courage ! "  mothers  bidding  adieu  to  their  young  sons 
and  crying,  "  Conquer !  "  You  will  feel  it  like  a  joy  divine 
if  you  have  the  good  fortune  to  behold  the  re-entrance  to 
your  town  of  the  regiments,  weary,  ragged,  with  thinned 
ranks,  yet  terrible,  with  the  splendor  of  victory  in  their 
eyes,  and  their  banners  torn  by  bullets,  followed  by  a  vast 
convoy  of  brave  fellows,  bearing  their  bandaged  heads  and 
their  stumps  of  arms  loftily,  amid  a  wild  throng,  which  covers 
them  with  flowers,  with  blessings,  and  with  kisses.  Then 
you  will  comprehend  the  love  of  country ;  then  you  will 
feel  your  country,  Enrico.  It  is  a  grand  and  sacred  thing. 
May  I  one  day  see  you  return  in  safety  from  a  battle  fought 
for  her,  safe,  —  you  who  are  my  flesh  and  soul ;  but  if  I  should 
learn  that  you  have  preserved  your  life  because  you  were  con- 
cealed from  death,  your  father,  who  welcomes  you  with  a  cry 
of  joy  when  you  return  from  school,  will  receive  you  with 
a  sob  of  anguish,  and  I  shall  never  be  able  to  love  you  again, 
and  I  shall  die  with  that  dagger  in  my  heart. 

THY  FATHER. 


102  ENVY. 


ENVY. 

Wednesday,  25th. 

The  boy  who  wrote  the  best  composition  of  all  on 
our  country  was  Derossi,  as  usual.  And  Votini,  who 
thought  himself  sure  of  the  first  medal  —  I  like  Votini 
well  enough,  although  he  is  rather  vain  and  does  polish 
himself  up  a  trifle  too  much,  —  but  it  makes  me  scorn 
him,  now  that  I  am  his  neighbor  on  the  bench,  to  see 
how  envious  he  is  of  Derossi.  He  would  like  to  vie 
with  him ;  he  studies  hard,  but  he  cannot  do  it  by  any 
possibility,  for  the  other  is  ten  times  as  strong  as  he  is 
on  even*  point ;  and  Votini  rails  at  him.  Carlo  Nobis 
envies  him  also  ;  but  he  has  so  much  pride  in  his  body 
that,  purely  from  pride,  he  does  not  allow  it  to  be  per- 
ceived. Votini,  on  the  other  hand,  betra}-s  himself : 
he  complains  of  his  difficulties  at  home,  and  says  that 
the  master  is  unjust  to  him ;  and  when  Derossi  replies 
so  promptly  and  so  well  to  questions,  as  he  always 
does,  his  face  clouds  over,  he  hangs  his  head,  pretends 
not  to  hear,  or  tries  to  laugh,  but  he  laughs  awkwardly. 
And  thus  every  one  knows  about  it,  so  that  when  the 
master  praises  Derossi  they  all  turn  to  look  at  Votiui, 
who  chews  his  venom,  and  the  little  mason  makes  a 
hare's  face  at  him.  To-day,  for  instance,  he  was  put 
to  the  torture.  The  head-master  entered  the  school 
and  announced  the  result  of  the  examination,  —  "  De- 
rossi ten  tenths  and  the  first  medal." 

Votini  gave  a  huge  sneeze.  The  master  looked  at 
him  :  it  was  not  hard  to  understand  the  matter.  "  Vo- 
tini," he  said,  "  do  not  let  the  serpent  of  envy  enter 
your  body ;  it  is  a  serpent  which  gnaws  at  the  brain 
and  corrupts  the  heart." 

Every   one   stared  at  him  except  Derossi.     Votini 


ENVY.  103 

tried  to  make  some  answer,  but  could  not ;  he  sat 
there  as  though  turned  to  stone,  and  with  a  white  face. 
Then,  while  the  master  was  conducting  the  lesson,  he 
began  to  write  in  large  characters  on  a  sheet  of  paper, 
' '  I  am  not  envious  of  those  who  gain  the  first  medal 
through  favoritism  and  injustice."  It  was  a  note  which 
he  meant  to  send  to  Derossi.  But,  in  the  meantime,  I 
perceived  that  Derossi's  neighbors  were  plotting  among 
themselves,  and  whispering  in  each  other's  ears,  and  one 
cut  with  penknife  from  paper  a  big  medal  on  which 
they  had  drawn  a  black  serpent.  But  Votini  did  not 
notice  this.  The  master  went  out  for  a  few  moments. 
All  at  once  Derossi's  neighbors  rose  and  left  their  seats, 
for  the  purpose  of  coming  and  solemnly  presenting  the 
paper  medal  to  Votini.  The  whole  class  was  prepared 
for  a  scene.  Votini  had  already  begun  to  quiver  all 
over.  Derossi  exclaimed  :  — 

"Give  that  to  me  !" 

"  So  much  the  better,"  they  replied ;  "  you  are  the 
one  who  ought  to  carry  it." 

Derossi  took  the  medal  and  tore  it  into  bits.  At 
that  moment  the  master  returned,  and  resumed  the 
lesson.  I  kept  my  eye  on  Votini.  He  had  turned  as 
red  as  a  coal.  He  took  his  sheet  of  paper  very,  very 
quietly,  as  though  in  absence  of  mind,  rolled  it  into  a 
ball,  on  the  sly,  put  it  into  his  mouth,  chewed  it  a 
little,  and  then  spit  it  out  under  the  bench.  When 
school  broke  up,  Votini,  who  was  a  little  confused,  let 
fall  his  blotting-paper,  as  he  passed  Derossi.  Derossi 
politely  picked  it  up,  put  it  in  his  satchel,  and  helped 
him  to  buckle  the  straps.  Votini  dared  not  raise  hig 
eyes. 


104  FRANTI'S  MOTHER. 


FRANTI'S  MOTHER. 

Saturday,  28th. 

But  Votini  is  incorrigible.  Yesterday  morning,  dur- 
ing the  lesson  on  religion,  in  the  presence  of  the  head- 
master, the  teacher  asked  Derossi  if  he  knew  by  heart 
the  two  couplets  in  the  reading-book,  — 

"  Where'er  I  turn  my  gaze,  'tis  Thee,  great  God,  1  see." 

Derossi  said  that  he  did  not,  and  Votini  suddenly 
exclaimed,  ''  I  know  them  !"  with  a  smile,  as  though  to 
pique  Derossi.  But  he  was  piqued  himself,  instead, 
for  he  could  not  recite  the  poetrj',  because  Franti's 
mother  suddenly  flew  into  the  schoolroom,  breathless, 
with  her  gray  hair  dishevelled  and  all  wet  with  snow, 
and  pushing  before  her  her  son,  who  had  been  sus- 
pended from  school  for  a  week.  What  a  sad  scene  we 
were  doomed  to  witness  !  The  poor  woman  flung  her- 
self almost  on  her  knees  before  the  head-master,  with 
clasped  hands,  and  besought  him  :  — 

"  Oh,  Signor  Director,  do  me  the  favor  to  put  my 
boy  back  in  school !  He  has  been  at  home  for  three 
days.  I  have  kept  him  hidden  ;  but  God  have  mercy 
on  him,  if  his  father  finds  out  about  this  affair  :  he  will 
murder  him  !  Have  pity  !  I  no  longer  know  what  to 
do  !  I  entreat  you  with  m}-  whole  soul !  " 

The  director  tried  to  lead  her  out,  but  she  resisted, 
still  continuing  to  pray  and  to  weep. 

"  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  the  trouble  that  this  boy  has 
caused  me,  you  would  have  compassion  !  Do  me  this 
favor !  I  hope  that  he  will  reform.  I  shall  not  live 
long,  Signor  Director ;  I  bear  death  within  me  ;  but  I 
should  like  to  see  him  reformed  before  my  death,  be- 
cause "  —  and  she  broke  into  a  passion  of  weeping — 


HOPE.  105 

"he  is  my  son  —  I  love  him  —  I  shall  die  in  despair  ! 
Take  him  back  once  more,  Signor  Director,  that  a 
misfortune  may  not  happen  in  the  family  !  Do  it  out 
of  pity  for  a  poor  woman ! "  And  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  sobbed. 

Franti  stood  impassive,  and  hung  his  head.  The 
head-master  looked  at  him,  reflected  a  little,  then  said, 
"Franti,  go  to  your  place." 

Then  the  woman  removed  her  hands  from  her  face, 
quite  comforted,  and  began  to  express  thanks  upon 
thanks,  without  giving  the  director  a  chance  to  speak, 
and  made  her  way  towards  the  door,  wiping  her  eyes, 
and  saying  hastilj" :  "  I  beg  of  you,  my  son.  —  May  all 
have  patience. — Thanks,  Signor  Director;  you  have 
performed  a  deed  of  mercy.  —  Be  a  good  boy.  —  Good 
day,  boys.  —  Thanks,  Signor  Teacher  ;  good  by,  ana 
forgive  a  poor  mother."  And  after  bestowing  another 
supplicating  glance  at  her  son  from  the  door,  she  went 
away,  pulling  up  the  shawl  which  was  trailing  after 
her,  pale,  bent,  with  a  head  which  still  trembled,  and 
we  heard  her  coughing  all  the  way  down  the  stairs. 
The  head-master  gazed  intently  at  Franti,  amid  the 
silence  of  the  class,  and  said  to  him  in  accents  of  a 
kind  to  make  him  tremble  :  — 

"  Franti,  you  are  killing  your  mother  !  " 

We  all  turned  to  look  at  Franti ;  and  that  infamous 
boy  smiled. 


HOPE. 

Sunday,  29th. 

Very  beautiful,  Enrico,  was  the  impetuosity  with  which 
you  flung  yourself  on  your  mother's  heart  on  your  return 
from  your  lesson  of  religion.  Yes,  your  master  said  grand 


106  HOPE. 

and  consoling  things  to  you.  God  threw  you  in  each  other's 
arms ;  he  will  never  part  you.  When  I  die,  when  your 
father  dies,  we  shall  not  speak  to  each  other  these  despairing 
words,  "  Mamma,  papa,  Enrico,  I  shall  never  see  you  again !  '• 
We  shall  see  each  other  again  in  another  life,  where  he  who 
has  suffered  much  in  this  life  will  receive  compensation ; 
where  he  who  has  loved  much  on  earth  will  find  again  the 
souls  whom  he  has  loved,  in  a  world  without  sin,  without 
sorrow,  and  without  death.  But  we  must  all  render  our- 
selves worthy  of  that  other  life.  Reflect,  my  son.  Every 
good  action  of  yours,  every  impulse  of  affection  for  those 
who  love  you,  every  courteous  act  towards  your  companions, 
every  noble  thought  of  yours,  is  like  a  leap  towards  that  other 
world.  And  every  misfortune,  also,  serves  to  raise  you  towards 
that  world;  every  sorrow,  for  every  sorrow  is  the  expiation 
of  a  sin,  every  tear  blots  out  a  stain.  Make  it  your  rule  to 
become  better  and  more  loving  every  day  than  the  day 
before.  Say  every  morning,  "  To-day  I  will  do  something 
for  which  my  conscience  will  praise  me,  and  with  which 
my  father  will  be  satisfied ;  something  which  will  render  me 
beloved  by  such  or  such  a  comrade,  by  my  teacher,  by  my 
brother,  or  by  others."  And  beseech  God  to  give  you  the 
strength  to  put  your  resolution  into  practice.  "  Lord,  I 
wish  to  be  good,  noble,  courageous,  gentle,  sincere;  help 
me ;  grant  that  every  night,  when  my  mother  gives  me  her 
last  kiss,  I  may  be  able  to  say  to  her,  '  You  kiss  this  night 
a  nobler  and  more  worthy  boy  than  you  kissed  last  night.'  " 
Keep  always  in  your  thoughts  that  other  superhuman  and 
blessed  Enrico  which  you  may  be  after  this  life.  And  pray. 
You  cannot  imagine  the  sweetness  that  you  experience,  — 
how  much  better  a  mother  feels  when  she  sees  her  child 
with  hands  clasped  in  prayer.  When  I  behold  you  pray- 
ing, it  seems  impossible  to  me  that  there  should  not  be 
some  one  there  gazing  at  you  and  listening  to  you.  Then  I 
believe  more  firmly  that  there  is  a  supreme  goodness  and 
an  infinite  pity ;  I  love  you  more,  I  work  with  more  ardor, 
I  endure  with  more  force,  I  forgive  with  all  my  heart,  and 


HOPE.  107 

I  think  of  death  with  serenity.  O  great  and  good  God ! 
To  hear  once  more,  after  death,  the  voice  of  my  mother, 
to  meet  my  children  again,  to  see  my  Enrico  once  more, 
my  Enrico,  blessed  and  immortal,  and  to  clasp  him  in  an 
embrace  which  shall  nevermore  be  loosed,  nevermore,  never- 
more to  all  eternity !  Oh,  pray !  let  us  pray,  let  us  love  each 
other,  let  us  be  good,  let  us  bear  this  celestial  hope  in  our 
hearts  and  souls,  my  adored  child ! 

THY  MOTHER. 


108  A  MEDAL  WELL  BESTOWED. 


FEBRUARY. 


A  MEDAL  WELL   BESTOWED. 

Saturday,  4th. 

THIS  morning  the  superintendent  of  the  schools,  a 
gentleman  with  a  white  beard,  and  dressed  in  black, 
came  to  bestow  the  medals.  He  entered  with  the 
head-master  a  little  before  the  close  and  seated  himself 
beside  the  teacher.  He  questioned  a  few,  then  gave 
the  first  medal  to  Derossi,  and  before  giving  the 
second,  he  stood  for  a  few  moments  listening  to  the 
teacher  and  the  head-master,  who  were  talking  to  him 
in  a  low  voice.  All  were  asking  themselves,  "To 
whom  will  he  give  the  second  ?  "  The  superintendent 
said  aloud  :  — 

"  Pupil  Pietro  Precossi  has  merited  the  second 
medal  this  week,  —  merited  it  by  his  work  at  home, 
by  his  lessons,  by  his  handwriting,  by  his  conduct  in 
every  way."  All  turned  to  look  at  Precossi,  and  it 
was  evident  that  all  took  pleasure  in  it.  Precossi  rose 
in  such  confusion  that  he  did  not  know  where  he  stood. 

'.'  Come  here,"  said  the  superintendent.  Precossi 
sprang  up  from  his  seat  and  stepped  up  to  the  master's 
table.  The  superintendent  looked  attentively  at  that 
little  waxen  face,  at  that  pun}'  body  enveloped  in 
turned  and  ill-fitting  garments,  at  those  kind,  sad 
eyes,  which  avoided  his,  but  which  hinted  at  a  story 
of  suffering ;  then  he  said  to  him,  in  a  voice  full  of 
affection,  as  he  fastened  the  medal  on  his  shoulder:  — 


A  MEDAL  WELL  BESTOWED.  —  Page  108. 


A  MEDAL   WELL  BESTOWED.  109 

"  I  give  you  the  medal,  Precossi.  No  one  is  more 
worthy  to  wear  it  than  you.  I  bestow  it  not  only  on 
your  intelligence  and  your  good  will ;  I  bestow  it  on 
your  heart,  I  give  it  to  your  courage,  to  your  character 
of  a  brave  and  good  son.  Is  it  not  true,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  class,  "  that  he  deserves  it  also  on  that 
score?" 

"•  Yes,  yes  !  "  all  answered,  with  one  voice.  Precossi 
made  a  movement  of  the  throat  as  though  he  were 
swallowing  something,  and  cast  upon  the  benches  a 
very  sweet  look,  which  was  expressive  of  immense  grat- 
itude. 

"  Go,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  superintendent ;  "  and 
ma}T  God  protect  you !  " 

It  was  the  hour  for  dismissing  the  school.  Our  class 
got  out  before  the  others.  As  soon  as  we  were  outside 
the  door,  whom  should  we  espy  there,  in  the  large  hall, 
just  at  the  entrance?  The  father  of  Precossi,  the 
blacksmith,  pallid  as  was  his  wont,  with  fierce  face, 
hair  hanging  over  his  eyes,  his  cap  awry,  and  unsteady 
on  his  legs.  The  teacher  caught  sight  of  him  instant- 
ly, and  whispered  to  the  superintendent.  The  latter 
sought  out  Precossi  in  haste,  and  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  he  led  him  to  his  father.  The  boy  was  trembling. 
The  boy  and  the  superintendent  approached  ;  many 
boys  collected  around  them. 

"  Is  it  true  that  you  are  the  father  of  this  lad?" 
demanded  the  superintendent  of  the  blacksmith,  with  a 
cheerful  air,  as  though  they  were  friends.  And,  with- 
out awaiting  a  reply  :  — 

"I  rejoice  with  you.  Look:  he  has  won  the  sec- 
ond medal  over  fifty-four  of  his  comrades.  He  has  de- 
served it  by  his  composition,  his  arithmetic,  everything. 
He  is  a  boy  of  great  intelligence  and  good  will,  who  will 


110  GOOD  RESOLUTIONS. 

accomplish  great  things  ;  a  fine  boy,  who  possesses 
the  affection  and  esteem  of  all.  You  may  feel  proud 
of  him,  I  assure  you." 

The  blacksmith,  who  had  stood  there  with  open  mouth 
listening  to  him,  stared  at  the  superintendent  and  the 
head-master,  and  then  at  his  son,  who  was  standing 
before  him  with  downcast  eyes  and  trembling  ;  and  as 
though  he  had  remembered  and  comprehended  then,  for 
the  first  time,  all  that  he  had  made  the  little  fellow  suf- 
fer, and  all  the  goodness,  the  heroic  constancy,  with 
which  the  latter  had  borne  it,  he  displayed  in  his  coun- 
tenance a  certain  stupid  wonder,  then  a  sullen  remorse, 
and  finally  a  sorrowful  and  impetuous  tenderness,  and 
with  a  rapid  gesture  he  caught  the  boy  round  the  head 
and  strained  him  to  his  breast.  We  all  passed  before 
them.  I  invited  him  to  come  to  the  house  on  Thurs- 
day, with  Garrone  and  Crossi ;  others  saluted  him  ; 
one  bestowed  a  caress  on  him,  another  touched  his 
medal,  all  said  something  to  him  ;  and  his  father  stared 
at  us  in  amazement,  as  he  still  held  his  son's  head 
pressed  to  his  breast,  while  the  boy  sobbed. 


GOOD  RESOLUTIONS. 

Sunday,  5th. 

That  medal  given  to  Precossi  has  awakened  a  re- 
morse in  me.  I  have  never  earned  one  yet !  For 
some  time  past  I  have  not  been  studying,  and  I  am 
discontented  with  myself,  and  the  teacher,  my  father 
and  mother  are  discontented  with  me.  I  no  longer 
experience  the  pleasure  in  amusing  myself  that  I  did 
formerly,  when  I  worked  with  a  will,  and  then  sprang 
up  from  the  table  and  ran  to  my  games  full  of  mirth, 


GOOD  RESOLUTIONS.  \\\ 

as  though  1  had  not  played  for  a  month.  Neither  do  I 
sit  down  to  the  table  with  my  family  with  the  same 
contentment  as  of  old.  I  have  always  a  shadow  in  my 
soul,  an  inward  voice,  that  says  to  me  continually, 
"  It  won't  do  ;  it  won't  do." 

In  the  evening  I  see  a  great  many  boys  pass  through 
the  square  on  their  return  from  work,  in  the  midst  of  a 
group  of  workingmen,  weary  but  merry.  They  step 
briskh'  along,  impatient  to  reach  their  homes  and  sup- 
pers, and  they  talk  loudly,  laughing  and  slapping  each 
other  on  the  shoulder  with  hands  blackened  with  coal, 
or  whitened  with  plaster ;  and  I  reflect  that  the}-  have 
been  working  since  daybreak  up  to  this  hour.  And 
with  them  are  also  many  others,  who  are  still  smaller, 
who  have  been  standing  all  day  on  the  summits  of 
roofs,  in  front  of  ovens,  among  machines,  and  in  the 
water,  and  underground,  with  nothing  to  eat  but  a 
little  bread ;  and  I  feel  almost  ashamed,  I,  who  in  all 
that  time  have  accomplished  nothing  but  scribble  four 
small  pages,  and  that  reluctantly.  Ah,  I  am  discon- 
tented, discontented  !  I  see  plainly  that  013-  father  is 
out  of  humor,  and  would  like  to  tell  me  so ;  but  he  is 
sorry,  and  he  is  still  waiting.  My  dear  father,  who 
works  so  hard !  all  is  yours,  all  that  I  see  around  me 
in  the  house,  all  that  I  touch,  all  that  I  wear  and  eat, 
all  that  affords  me  instruction  and  diversion,  —  all  is 
the  fruit  of  your  toil,  and  I  do  not  work ;  all  has 
cost  you  thought,  privations,  trouble,  effort ;  and  I 
make  no  effort.  Ah,  no  ;  this  is  too  unjust,  and  causes 
me  too  much  pain.  I  will  begin  this  very  day ;  I  will 
apply  myself  to  m}-  studies,  like  Stardi,  with  clenched 
fists  and  set  teeth.  I  will  set  about  it  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  will  and  my  heart.  I  will  conquer  my 
drowsiness  in  the  evening,  I  will  come  down  promptlj- 


112  THE  ENGINE. 

in  the  morning,  I  will  cudgel  my  brains  without  ceas- 
ing, I  will  chastise  my  laziness  without  mercy.  I  will 
toil,  suffer,  even  to  the  extent  of  making  myself  ill ; 
but  I  will  put  a  stop,  once  for  all,  to  this  languishing 
and  tiresome  life,  which  is  degrading  me  and  causing 
sorrow  to  others.  Courage  !  to  work  !  To  work  with 
all  my  soul,  and  all  my  nerves  !  To  work,  which  will 
restore  to  me  sweet  repose,  pleasing  games,  cheerful 
meals  !  To  work,  which  will  give  me  back  again  the 
kindly  smile  of  my  teacher,  the  blessed  kiss  of  my 
father ! 


THE   ENGINE. 

Friday,  10th. 

Precossi  came  to  our  house  to-day  with  Garrone. 
I  do  not  think  that  two  sons  of  princes  would  have 
been  received  with  greater  delight.  This  is  the  first 
time  that  Garrone  has  been  here,  because  he  is  rather 
shy,  and  then  he  is  ashamed  to  show  himself  because 
he  is  so  large,  and  is  still  in  the  third  grade.  We  all 
went  to  open  the  door  when  they  rang.  Crossi  did  not 
come,  because  his  father  has  at  last  arrived  from  Amer- 
ica, after  an  absence  of  seven  years.  My  mother 
kissed  Precossi  at  once.  My  father  introduced  Gar- 
rone to  her,  saying  :  — 

"  Here  he  is.  This  lad  is  not  only  a  good  boy  ;  he 
is  a  man  of  honor  and  a  gentleman." 

And  the  boy  dropped  his  big,  shagg}-  head,  with  a 
sly  smile  at  me.  Precossi  had  on  his  medal,  and  he 
was  happy,  because  his  father  has  gone  to  work  again, 
and  has  not  drunk  anything  for  the  last  five  days, 
wants  him  to  be  always  in  the  workshop  to  keep  him 
company,  and  seems  quite  another  man. 


THE  ENGINE.  113 

We  began  to  play,  and  I  brought  out  all  my  things. 
Precossi  was  enchanted  with  my  train  of  cars,  with  the 
engine  that  goes  of  itself  on  being  wound  up.  He 
had  never  seen  anything  of  the  kind.  He  devoured 
the  little  red  and  yellow  cars  with  his  63-68.  I  gave 
him  the  key  to  play  with,  and  he  knelt  down  to  his 
amusement,  and  did  not  raise  his  head  again.  I  have 
never  seen  him  so  pleased.  He  kept  saying,  "  Excuse 
me,  excuse  me,"  to  everything,  and  motioning  to  us 
with  his  hands,  that  we  should  not  stop  the  engine  ; 
and  then  he  picked  it  up  and  replaced  the  cars  with  a 
thousand  precautions,  as  though  they  had  been  made  of 
glass.  He  was  afraid  of  tarnishing  them  with  his 
breath,  and  he  polished  them  up  again,  examining  them 
top  and  bottom,  and  smiling  to  himself.  We  .1'  stood 
around  him  and  gazed  at  him.  We  looke_.  .i4  that 
slender  neck,  those  poor  little  ears,  which  I  ^ad  seen 
bleeding  one  da}-,  that  jacket  with  the  sleeves  turned 
up,  from  which  projected  two  sickly  little  arms,  which 
had  been  upraised  to  ward  off  blows  from  his  face.  Oh  ! 
at  that  moment  I  could  have  cast  all  my  playthings  and 
all  my  books  at  his  feet,  I  could  have  torn  the  last 
morsel  of  bread  from  my  lips  to  give  to  him,  I  could 
have  divested  myself  of  my  clothing  to  clothe  him,  I 
could  have  flung  myself  on  my  knees  to  kiss  his  hand. 
"I  will  at  least  give  you  the  train,"  I  thought;  but  it 
was  necessary  to  ask  permission  of  my  father.  At  that 
moment  I  felt  a  bit  of  paper  thrust  into  my  hand.  I 
looked  ;  it  was  written  in  pencil  by  my  father  ;  it  said  : 

"Your  train  pleases  Precossi.  He  has  no  play- 
things. Does  your  heart  suggest  nothing  to  you?" 

Instantly  I  seized  the  engine  and  the  cars  in  both 
hands,  and  placed  the  whole  in  his  arms,  saying :  — 

"  Take  this  ;  it  is  yours." 


114  PRIDE. 

He  looked  at  me,  and  did  not  understand.  "It  is 
yours,"  I  said  ;  "  I  give  it  to  you." 

Then  he  looked  at  my  father  and  mother,  in  still 
greater  astonishment,  and  asked  me  :  — 

"But  why?" 

My  father  said  to  him  :  — 

"  Enrico  gives  it  to  you  because  he  is  your  friend, 
because  he  loves  you  —  to  celebrate  your  medal." 

Precossi  asked  timidly  :  — 

"  I  may  carry  it  away  —  home  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  "  we  all  responded.  He  was  already 
at  the  door,  but  he  dared  not  go  out.  He  was  happy  ! 
He  begged  our  pardon  with  a  mouth  that  smiled  and 
quivered.  Garrone  helped  him  to  wrap  up  the  train  in 
a  handkerchief,  and  as  he  bent  over,  he  made  the 
things  with  which  his  pockets  were  filled  rattle. 

"  Some  day,"  said  Precossi  to  me,  "  you  shall  come 
to  the  shop  to  see  my  father  at  work.  I  will  give  you 
some  nails." 

My  mother  put  a  little  bunch  of  flowers  into  Gar- 
rone's  buttonhole,  for  him  to  carry  to  his  mother  in  her 
name.  Garrone  said,  "Thanks,"  in  his  big  voice, 
without  raising  his  chin  from  his  breast.  But  all  his 
kind  and  noble  soul  shone  in  his  eyes. 


PRIDE. 

Saturday,  llth. 

The  idea  of  Carlo  Nobis  rubbing  off  his  sleeve  affect- 
edly, when  Precossi  touches  him  in  passing !  That 
fellow  is  pride  incarnate  because  his  father  is  a  rich 
man.  But  Derossi's  father  is  rich  too.  He  would  like 
to  have  a  bench  to  himself ;  he  is  afraid  that  the  rest 


PRIDE.  H5 

will  soil  it ;  he  looks  down  on  everybody  and  always  has 
a  scornful  smile  on  his  lips :  woe  to  him  who  stumbles 
over  his  foot,  when  we  go  out  in  files  two  by  two.!  For 
a  mere  trifle  he  flings  an  insulting  word  in  your  face,  or 
a  threat  to  get  his  father  to  come  to  the  school.  It  is 
true  that  his  father  did  give  him  a  good  lesson  when  he 
called  the  little  son  of  the  charcoal- man  a  ragamuffin. 
I  have  never  seen  so  disagreeable  a  schoolboy !  No 
one  speaks  to  him,  no  one  says  good  by  to  him  when 
he  goes  out ;  there  is  not  even  a  dog  who  would  give 
him  a  suggestion  when  he  does  not  know  his  lesson. 
And  he  cannot  endure  any  one,  and  he  pretends  to 
despise  Derossi  more  than  all,  because  he  is  the  head 
boy  ;  and  Garroue,  because  he  is  beloved  by  all.  But 
Derossi  pa}-s  no  attention  to  him  when  he  is  by  ;  and 
when  the  boys  tell  Garrone  that  Nobis  has  been 
speaking  ill  of  him,  he  says :  — 

"  His  pride  is  so  senseless  that  it  does  not  deserve 
even  my  passing  notice." 

But  Coretti  said  to  him  one  day,  when  he  was  smil- 
ing disdainfully  at  his  catskin  cap :  — 

"  Go  to  Derossi  for  a  while,  and  learn  how  to  play 
the  gentleman !  " 

Yesterda}'  he  complained  to  the  master,  because  the 
Calabrian  touched  his  leg  with  his  foot.  The  master 
asked  the  Calabrian  :  — 

"Did  you  do  it  intentionally? — "No,  sir,"  he  re- 
plied, frankh'.  —  "You  are  too  petulant,  Nobis." 

And  Nobis  retorted,  in  his  airy  way,  "I  shall  tell 
my  father  about  it."  Then  the  teacher  got  angry. 

"Your  father  will  tell  you  that  you  are  in  the  wrong, 
as  he  has  on  other  occasions.  And  besides  that,  it  is 
the  teacher  alone  who  has  the  right  to  judge  and  punish 
in  school."  Then  he  added  pleasantly  :  — 


116  THE  WOUNDS   OF  LABOR. 

"  Come,  Nobis,  change  your  ways  ;  be  kind  and  cour- 
teous  to  your  comrades.  You  see,  we  have  here  sons 
of  workingmen  and  of  gentlemen,  of  the  rich  and  the 
poor,  and  all  love  each  other  and  treat  each  other  like 
brothers,  as  they  are.  Why  do  not  you  do  like  the 
rest?  It  would  not  cost  you  much  to  make  every  one 
like  you,  and  you  would  be  so  much  happier  yourself, 
too  !  —  Well,  have  you  no  reply  to  make  me  ?  " 

Nobis,  who  had  listened  to  him  with  his  customary 
scornful  smile,  answered  coldly  :  — 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  master  to  him.  "  I  am  sorry 
for  you.  You  are  a  heartless  boy." 

This  seemed  to  be  the  end  of  it  all ;  but  the  little 
mason,  who  sits  on  the  front  bench,  turned  his  round 
face  towards  Nobis,  who  sits  on  the  back  bench,  and 
made  such  a  fine  and  ridiculous  hare's  face  at  him,  that 
the  whole  class  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter.  The 
master  reproved  him ;  but  he  was  obliged  to  put  his 
hand  over  his  own  mouth  to  conceal  a  smile.  And 
even  Nobis  laughed,  but  not  in  a  pleasant  way. 


THE   WOUNDS   OF   LABOR. 

Monday,  15th. 

Nobis  can  be  paired  off  with  Franti :  neither  of  them 
was  affected  this  morning  in  the  presence  of  the 
terrible  sight  which  passed  before  their  eyes.  On  com- 
ing out  of  school,  I  was  standing  with  nvv  father  and 
looking  at  some  big  rogues  of  the  second  grade,  who 
had  thrown  themselves  on  their  knees  and  were  wiping 
off  the  ice  with  their  cloaks  and  caps,  in  order  to  make 
slides  more  quickly,  when  we  saw  a  crowd  of  people 
appear  at  the  end  of  the  street,  walking  hurriedly,  all 


THE  WOUNDS  OF  LABOR.         117 

serious  and  seemingly  terrified,  and  conversing  in  low 
tones.  In  the  midst  of  them  were  three  policemen, 
and  behind  the  policemen  two  men  carrying  a  litter. 
Boys  hastened  up  from  all  quarters.  The  crowd  ad- 
vanced towards  us.  On  the  litter  was  stretched  a  man, 
pale  as  a  corpse,  with  his  head  resting  on  one  shoulder, 
and  his  hair  tumbled  and  stained  with  blood,  for  he 
had  been  losing  blood  through  the  mouth  and  ears  ;  and 
beside  the  litter  walked  a  woman  with  a  baby  in  her 
arms,  who  seemed  crazy,  and  who  shrieked  from  time 
to  time,  "  He  is  dead  !  He  is  dead  !  He  is  dead  !  " 

Behind  the  woman  came  a  boy  who  had  a  portfolio 
under  his  arm  and  who  was  sobbing. 

"  What  has  happened? "  asked  my  father.  A  neigh- 
bor replied,  that  the  the  man  was  a  mason  who  had 
fallen  from  the  fourth  stor}-  while  at  work.  The 
bearers  of  the  litter  halted  for  a  moment.  Many 
turned  away  their  faces  in  horror.  I  saw  the  school- 
mistress of  the  red  feather  supporting  my  mistress  of 
the  upper  first,  who  was  almost  in  a  swoon.  At  the 
same  moment  I  felt  a  touch  on  the  elbow ;  it  was  the 
little  mason,  who  was  ghastly  white  and  trembling 
from  head  to  foot.  He  was  certainly  thinking  of  his 
father.  I  was  thinking  of  him,  too.  I,  at  least,  am 
at  peace  in  my  mind  while  I  am  in  school :  I  know  that 
my  father  is  at  home,  seated  at  his  table,  far  removed 
from  all  danger ;  but  how  many  of  my  companions 
think  that  their  fathers  are  at  work  on  a  very  high 
bridge  or  close  to  the  wheels  of  a  machine,  and  that  a 
movement,  a  single  false  step,  may  cost  them  their 
lives  !  They  are  like  so  many  sons  of  soldiers  who 
have  fathers  in  the  battle.  The  little  mason  gazed  and 
gazed,  and  trembled  more  and  more,  and  my  father 
noticed  it  and  said  :  — 


118  THE  PRISONER. 

"  Go  home,  my  boy  ;  go  at  once  to  your  father,  and 
you  will  find  him  safe  and  tranquil ;  go  !  " 

The  little  mason  went  off,  turning  round  at  every 
step.  And  in  the  meanwhile  the  crowd  had  begun  to 
move  again,  and  the  woman  to  shriek  in  a  way  that 
rent  the  heart,  "He  is  dead!  He  is  dead!  He  is 
dead ! " 

"  No,  no ;  he  is  not  dead,"  people  on  all  sides  said 
to  her.  But  she  paid  no  heed  to  them,  arid  tore  her 
hair.  Then  I  heard  an  indignant  voice  say,  "You  are 
laughing !  "  and  at  the  same  moment  I  saw  a  bearded 
man  staring  in  Franti's  face.  Then  the  man  knocked 
his  cap  to  the  ground  with  his  stick,  saying  :  — 

"  Uncover  your  head,  you  wicked  boy,  when  a  man 
wounded  by  labor  is  passing  by  !  " 

The  crowd  had  already  passed,  and  a  long  streak  of 
blood  was  visible  iu  the  middle  of  the  street. 


THE   PRISONER. 

Friday,  17th. 

Ah,  this  is  certainly  the  strangest  event  of  the 
whole  year !  Yesterday  morning  my  father  took  me 
to  the  suburbs  of  Moncalieri,  to  look  at  a  villa  which 
he  thought  of  hiring  for  the  coming  summer,  because 
we  shall  not  go  to  Chieri  again  this  year,  and  it  turned 
out  that  the  person  who  had  the  keys  was  a  teacher 
who  acts  as  secretary  to  the  owner.  He  showed  us  the 
house,  and  then  he  took  us  to  his  own  room,  where  he 
gave  us  something  to  drink.  On  his  table,  among  the 
glasses,  there  was  a  wooden  inkstand,  of  a  conical 
form,  carved  in  a  singular  manner.  Perceiving  that 
my  father  was  looking  at  it,  the  teacher  said  :  — 


THE  PRISONER.  119 

' '  That  inkstand  is  very  precious  to  me  :  if  you  only 
knew,  sir,  the  history  of  that  inkstand ! "  And  he 
told  it. 

Years  ago  he  was  a  teacher  at  Turin,  and  all  one 
winter  he  went  to  give  lessons  to  the  prisoners  in  the 
judicial  prison.  He  gave  the  lessons  in  the  chapel  of 
the  prison,  which  is  a  circular  building,  and  all  around 
it,  on  the  high,  bare  walls,  are  a  great  many  little 
square  windows,  covered  with  two  cross-bars  of  iron, 
each  one  of  which  corresponds  to  a  very  small  cell  in- 
side. He  gave  his  lessons  as  he  paced  about  the  dark, 
cold  chapel,  and  his  scholars  stood  at  the  holes,  with 
their  copy-books  resting  against  the  gratings,  showing 
nothing  in  the  shadow  but  wan,  frowning  faces,  gra}* 
and  ragged  beards,  staring  eyes  of  murderers  and 
thieves.  Among  the  rest  there  was  one,  No.  78,  who 
was  more  attentive  than  all  the  others,  and  who  stud- 
ied a  great  deal,  and  gazed  at  his  teacher  with  eyes 
full  of  respect  and  gratitude.  He  was  a  young  man, 
with  a  black  beard,  more  unfortunate  than  wicked,  a 
cabinet-maker  who,  in  a  fit  of  rage,  had  flung  a  plane 
at  his  master,  who  had  been  persecuting  him  for  some 
time,  and  had  inflicted  a  mortal  wound  on  his  head  : 
for  this  he  had  been  condemned  to  several  years  of  se- 
clusion. In  three  months  he  had  learned  to  1'ead  and 
write,  and  he  read  constantly,  and  the  more  he  learned, 
the  better  he  seemed  to  become,  and  the  more  remorse- 
ful for  his  crime.  One  day,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
lesson,  he  made  a  sign  to  the  teacher  that  he  should 
come  near  to  his  little  window,  and  he  announced  to 
him  that  he  was  to  leave  Turin  on  the  following  day, 
to  go  and  expiate  his  crime  in  the  prison  at  Venice ; 
and  as  he  bade  him  farewell,  he  begged  in  a  humble 
and  much  moved  voice,  that  he  might  be  allowed  to 


120  THE  PRISONER. 

touch  the  master's  hand.  The  master  offered  him  his 
hand,  and  he  kissed  it ;  then  he  said  :  — 

"  Thanks  !  thanks  !  "  and  disappeared.  The  master 
drew  back  his  hand  ;  it  was  bathed  with  tears.  After 
that  he  did  not  see  the  man  again. 

Six  years  passed.  "  I  was  thinking  of  anything  ex- 
cept that  unfortunate  man,"  said  the  teacher,  "  when, 
the  other  morning,  I  saw  a  stranger  come  to  the  house, 
a  man  with  a  large  black  beard  already  sprinkled  with 
gray,  and  badly  dressed,  who  said  to  me  :  '  Are  you 
the  teacher  So-and-So,  sir?'  'Who  are  \x>u?'  I  asked 
him.  'I  am  prisoner  No.  78,'  he  replied;  'you 
taught  me  to  read  and  write  six  years  ago ;  if  you 
recollect,  you  gave  me  your  hand  at  the  last  lesson  ;  I 
have  now  expiated  my  crime,  and  I  have  come  hither 
—  to  beg  }'ou  to  do  me  the  favor  to  accept  a  memento 
of  me,  a  poor  little  thing  which  I  made  in  prison. 
Will  you  accept  it  in  memory  of  me,  Signor  Master?' 

"I  stood  there  speechless.  He  thought  that  I  did 
not  wish  to  take  it,  and  he  looked  at  me  as  much  as  to 
say,  '  So  six  years  of  suffering  are  not  sufficient  to 
cleanse  my  hands  ! '  but  with  so  poignant  an  expres- 
sion of  pain  did  he  gaze  at  me,  that  I  instantly  ex- 
tended my  hand  and  took  the  little  object.  This  is  it." 

We  looked  attentively  at  the  inkstand  :  it  seemed  to 
have  been  carved  with  the  point  of  a  nail,  and  with 
great  patience  ;  on  its  top  was  carved  a  pen  lying 
across  a  cop}7 -book,  and  around  it  was  written:  "To 
my  teacher.  A  memento  of  No.  78.  Six  years!  "  And 
below,  in  small  letters,  "Study  and  hope." 

The  master  said  nothing  more  ;  we  went  away.  But 
all  the  way  from  Moncalieri  to  Turin  I  could  not 
get  that  prisoner,  standing  at  his  little  window,  that 
farewell  to  his  master,  that  poor  inkstand  made  in 


THE  PRISONER.  121 

prison,  which  told  so  much,  out  of  my  head ;  and  I 
dreamed  of  them  all  night,  and  was  still  thinking  of 
them  this  morning  —  far  enough  from  imagining  the 
surprise  which  awaited  me  at  school !  No  sooner  had 
I  taken  my  new  seat,  beside  Derossi,  and  written  my 
problem  in  arithmetic  for  the  monthly  examination, 
than  I  told  my  companion  the  story  of  the  prisoner 
and  the  inkstand,  and  how  the  inkstand  was  made, 
with  the  pen  across  the  copy-book,  and  the  inscription 
around  it,  "Six  years!"  Derossi  sprang  up  at  these 
words,  and  began  to  look  first  at  me  and  then  at  Crossi, 
the  son  of  the  vegetable-vender,  who  sat  on  the  bench 
in  front,  with  his  back  turned  to  us,  wholly  absorbed 
on  his  problem. 

"Hush!"  he  said;  then,  in  a  low  voice,  catching 
me  by  the  arm,  "don't  you  know  that  Crossi  spoke 
to  me  day  before  yesterday  of  having  caught  a  glimpse 
of  an  inkstand  in  the  hands  of  his  father,  who  has  re- 
turned from  America ;  a  conical  inkstand,  made  by 
hand,  with  a  copy-book  and  a  pen,  —  that  is  the  one  ; 
six  years !  He  said  that  his  father  was  in  America ; 
instead  of  that  he  was  in  prison  :  Crossi  was  a  little 
boy  at  the  time  of  the  crime  ;  he  does  not  remember  it ; 
his  mother  has  deceived  him ;  he  knows  nothing ;  let 
not  a  syllable  of  this  escape  !  " 

I  remained  speechless,  with  my  63'es  fixed  on  Crossi. 
Then  Derossi  solved  his  problem,  and  passed  it  under 
the  bench  to  Crossi ;  he  gave  him  a  sheet  of  paper  ;  he 
took  out  of  his  hands  the  monthly  story,  Daddy's  Nurse, 
which  the  teacher  had  given  him  to  copy  out,  in  order 
that  he  might  cop}*  it  in  his  stead ;  he  gave  him  pens, 
and  stroked  his  shoulder,  and  made  me  promise  on  my 
honor  that  I  would  say  nothing  to  any  one  ;  and  when 
we  left  school,  he  said  hastily  to  me :  — 


122  DADDY'S  NURSE. 

' '  His  father  came  to  get  him  yesterday  ;  he  will  be 
here  agaiu  this  morning  :  do  as  I  do." 

We  emerged  into  the  street ;  Crossi's  father  was 
there,  a  little  to  one  side  :  a  man  with  a  black  beard 
sprinkled  with  gray,  badly  dressed,  with  a  colorless  and 
thoughtful  face.  Derossi  shook  Crossi's  hand,  in  a 
way  to  attract  attention,  and  said  to  him  in  a  loud 
tone,  "Farewell  until  we  meet  again,  Crossi,"  —  and 
passed  his  hand  under  his  chin.  I  did  the  same.  But 
as  he  did  so,  Derossi  turned  crimson,  and  so  did  I ; 
and  Crossi's  father  gazed  attentively  at  us,  with  a 
kindly  glance  ;  but  through  it  shone  an  expression  of 
uneasiness  and  suspicion  which  made  our  hearts  grow 
cold. 


DADDY'S   NURSE. 

(Monthly  Story.) 

One  morning,  on  a  rainy  day  in  March,  a  lad  dressed 
like  a  country  boy,  all  muddy  and  saturated  with 
water,  with  a  bundle  of  clothes  under  his  arm,  pre- 
sented himself  to  the  porter  of  the  great  hospital  at 
Naples,  and,  presenting  a  letter,  asked  for  his  father. 
He  had  a  fins  oval  face,  of  a  pale  brown  hue,  thought- 
ful eyes,  and  two  thick  lips,  always  half  open,  which 
displayed  extremely  white  teeth.  He  came  from  a  vil- 
lage in  the  neighborhood  of  Naples.  His  father,  who 
had  left  home  a  year  previously  to  seek  work  in  France, 
had  returned  to  Italy,  and  had  landed  a  few  days  be- 
fore at  Naples,  where,  having  fallen  suddenly  ill,  he 
had  hardly  time  to  write  a  line  to  announce  his  arrival 
to  his  family,  and  to  say  that  he  was  going  to  the  hos- 
pital. His  wife,  in  despair  at  this  news,  and  unable  to 


'THE  BOY  HAD  WALKED  TEN   MILES."  —  Page  123. 


DADDY'S  NURSE.  123 

leave  home  because  she  had  a  sick  child,  and  a  baby  at 
the  breast,  had  sent  her  eldest  son  to  Naples,  with  a 
few  soldi,  to  help  his  father  —  his  daddy,  as  they  called 
him  :  the  boy  had  walked  ten  miles. 

The  porter,  after  glancing  at  the  letter,  called  a  nurse 
and  told  him  to  conduct  the  lad  to  his  father. 

"  What  father?  "  inquired  the  nurse. 

The  boy,  trembling  with  terror,  lest  he  should  hear 
bad  news,  gave  the  name. 

The  nurse  did  not  recall  such  a  name. 

"An  old  laborer,  arrived  from  abroad?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  a  laborer,"  replied  the  lad,  still  more  uneasy ; 
"  not  so  very  old.  Yes,  arrived  from  abroad." 

' '  When  did  he  enter  the  hospital  ? "  asked  the 
nurse. 

The  lad  glanced  at  his  letter;  "Five  days  ago,  I 
think." 

The  nurse  stood  a  while  in  thought ;  then,  as  though 
suddenly  recalling  him  ;  "  Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  the  furthest 
bed  in  the  fourth  ward." 

"Is  he  very  ill?  How  is  he?"  inquired  the  boy, 
anxiously. 

The  nurse  looked  at  him,  without  replying.  Then 
he  said,  "  Come  with  me." 

They  ascended  two  flights  of  stairs,  walked  to  the 
end  of  a  long  corridor,  and  found  themselves  facing 
the  open  door  of  a  large  hall,  wherein  two  rows  of 
beds  were  arranged.  "  Come,"  repeated  the  nurse, 
entering.  The  boy  plucked  up  his  courage,  and  fol- 
lowed him,  casting  terrified  glances  to  right  and  left, 
on  the  pale,  emaciated  faces  of  the  sick  people,  some 
of  whom  had  their  eyes  closed,  and  seemed  to  be  dead, 
while  others  were  staring  into  the  air,  with  their  eyes 
wide  open  and  fixed,  as  though  frightened.  Some 


124  DADDY'S  NURSE. 

were  moaning  like  children.  The  big  room  was  dark, 
the  air  was  impregnated  with  an  acute  odor  of  medi- 
cines. Two  sisters  of  charity  were  going  about  with 
phials  in  their  hands. 

Arrived  at  the  extremity  of  the  great  room,  the  nurse 
halted  at  the  head  of  a  bed,  drew  aside  the  curtains, 
and  said,  "  Here  is  your  father." 

The  boy  burst  into  tears,  and  letting  fall  his  bundle, 
he  dropped  his  head  on  the  sick  man's  shoulder,  clasp- 
.  ing  with  one  hand  the  arm  which  was  lying  motionless 
on  the  coverlet.  The  sick  man  did  not  move. 

The  boy  rose  to  his  feet,  and  looked  at  his  father,  and 
broke  into  a  fresh  fit  of  weeping.  Then  the  sick  man 
gave  a  long  look  at  him,  and  seemed  to  recognize  him  ; 
but  his  lips  did  not  move.  Poor  daddy,  how  he  was 
changed  !  The  son  would  never  have  recognized  him. 
His  hair  had  turned  white,  his  beard  had  grown,  his  face 
was  swollen,  of  a  dull  red  hue,  with  the  skin  tightly  drawn 
and  shining;  his  eyes  were  diminished  in  size,  his  lips  very 
thick,  his  whole  countenance  altered.  There  was  no 
longer  anything  natural  about  him  but  his  forehead  and 
the  arch  of  his  eyebrows.  He  breathed  with  difficulty. 

"Daddy!  daddy!"  said  the  boy,  "it  is  I;  don't 
you  know  me?  I  am  Cicillo,  your  own  Cicillo,  who 
has  come  from  the  country :  mamma  has  sent  me. 
Take  a  good  look  at  me ;  don't  you  know  me  ?  Say 
one  word  to  me." 

But  the  sick  man,  after  having  looked  attentively 
at  him,  closed  his  eyes. 

"Daddy!  daddy!  What  is  the  matter  with  you? 
I  am  your  little  son  — your  own  Cicillo." 

.The  sick  man  made  no  movement,  and  continued  to 
breathe  painfully. 

Then  the  lad,  still  weeping,  took  a  chair,  seated  him- 


DADDY'S  NURSE.  125 

self  and  waited,  without  taking  his  eyes  from  his 
father's  face.  "A  doctor  will  surely  come  to  pay  him 
a  visit,"  he  thought;  "he  will  tell  me  something." 
And  he  became  immersed  in  sad  thoughts,  recalling 
many  things  about  his  kind  father,  the  day  of  parting, 
when  he  said  the  last  good  by  to  him  on  board  the 
ship,  the  hopes  which  his  family  had  founded  on  his 
journey,  the  desolation  of  his  mother  on  the  arrival  of 
the  letter ;  and  he  thought  of  death :  he  beheld  his 
father  dead,  his  mother  dressed  in  black,  the  family  in 
misery.  And  he  remained  a  long  time  thus.  A  light 
hand  touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  he  started  up : 
it  was  a  nun. 

' '  What  is  the  matter  with  my  father  ?  "  he  asked  her 
quickly. 

"  Is  he  your  father?"  said  the  sister  gently. 

"Yes,  he  is  my  father;  I  have  come.  What  ails 
him?" 

"Courage,  my  boy,"  replied  the  sister;  "the  doc- 
tor will  be  here  soon  now."  And  she  went  away 
without  saying  anything  more. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  bell,  and 
he  saw  the  doctor  enter  at  the  further  end  of  the  hall, 
accompanied  by  an  assistant ;  the  sister  and  a  nurse 
followed  him.  They  began  the  visit,  pausing  at  even- 
bed.  This  time  of  waiting  seemed  an  eternity  to  the 
lad,  and  his  anxiety  increased  at  every  step  of  the  doc- 
tor. At  length  they  arrived  at  the  next  bed.  The 
doctor  was  an  old  man,  tall  and  stooping,  with  a  grave 
face.  Before  he  left  the  next  bed  the  boy  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  when  he  approached  he  began  to  cry. 

The  doctor  looked  at  him. 

"He  is  the  sick  man's  son,"  said  the  sister;  "he 
arrived  this  morning  from  the  countrv." 


126  DADDY'S  NURSE. 

The  doctor  placed  one  hand  on  his  shoulder ;  then 
bent  over  the  sick  man,  felt  his  pulse,  touched  his  fore- 
head, and  asked  a  few  questions  of  the  sister,  who 
replied,  "There  is  nothing  new."  Then  he  thought 
for  a  while  and  said,  "  Continue  the  present  treatment." 

Then  the  boy  plucked  up  courage,  and  asked  in  a 
tearful  voice,  "  What  is  the  matter  with  my  father?" 

"Take  courage,  my  boy,"  replied  the  doctor,  laying 
his  hand  on  his  shoulder  once  more  ;  "he  has  erysip- 
elas in  his  face.  It  is  a  serious  case,  but  there  is  still 
hope.  Help  him.  Your  presence  may  do  him  a  great 
deal  of  good." 

"  But  he  does  not  know  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy  in 
a  tone  of  affliction. 

"He  will  recognize  you  —  to-morrow  perhaps.  Let 
us  hope  for  the  best  and  keep  up  our  courage." 

The  boy  would  have  liked  to  ask  some  more 
questions,  but  he  did  not  dare.  The  doctor  passed  on. 
-And  then  he  began  his  life  of  nurse.  As  he  could  do 
nothing  else,  he  arranged  the  coverlets  of  the  sick  man, 
touched  his  hand  every  now  and  then,  drove  away  the 
flies,  bent  over  him  at  every  groan,  and  when  the 
sister  brought  him  something  to  drink,  he  took  the 
glass  or  the  spoon  from  her  hand,  and  administered  it 
in  her  stead.  The  sick  man  looked  at  him  occasion- 
ally, but  he  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  However, 
his  glance  rested  longer  on  the  lad  each  time,  especially 
when  the  latter  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes. 

Thus  passed  the  first  day.  At  night  the  boy  slept 
on  two  chairs,  in  a  corner  of  the  ward,  and  in  the 
morning  he  resumed  his  work  of  mercy.  That  day  it 
seemed  as  though  the  eyes  of  the  sick  man  revealed 
a  dawning  of  consciousness.  At  the  sound  of  the 
boy's  caressing  voice  a  vague  expression  of  gratitude 


DADDY'S  NURSE.  127 

seemed  to  gleam  for  an  instant  in  his  pupils,  and  once 
he  moved  his  lips  a  little,  as  though  he  wanted  to  say 
something.  After  each  brief  nap  he  seemed,  on  open- 
ing his  eyes,  to  seek  his  little  nurse.  The  doctor,  who 
had  passed  twice,  thought  he  noted  a  slight  improve- 
ment. Towards  evening,  on  putting  the  cup  to  his 
lips,  the  lad  fancied  that  he  perceived  a  very  faint 
smile  glide  across  the  swollen  lips.  Then  he  began 
to  take  comfort  and  to  hope ;  and  with  the  hope  of 
being  understood,  confusedly  at  least,  he  talked  to 
him  —  talked  to  him  at  great  length  —  of  his  mother,  of 
his  little-  sisters,  of  his  own  return  home,  and  he  ex- 
horted him  to  courage  with  warm  and  loving  words. 
And  although  he  often  doubted  whether  he  was  heard, 
he  still  talked  ;  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  even  if  he 
did  not  understand  him,  the  sick  man  listened  with  a 
certain  pleasure  to  his  voice,  —  to  that  unaccustomed 
intonation  of  affection  and  sorrow.  And  in  this  man- 
ner passed  the  second  day,  and  the  third,  and  the 
fourth,  with  vicissitudes  of  slight  improvements  and 
unexpected  changes  for  the  worse  ;  and  the  boy  was 
so  absorbed  in  all  his  cares,  that  he  hardly  nibbled  a 
bit  of  bread  and  cheese  twice  a  day,  when  the  sister 
brought  it  to  him,  and  hardly  saw  what  was  going  on 
around  him, — the  dying  patients,  the  sudden  running 
up  of  the  sisters  at  night,  the  moans  and  despairing 
gestures  of  visitors,  —  all  those  doleful  and  lugubrious 
scenes  of  hospital  life,  which  on  amr  other  occasion 
would  have  disconcerted  and  alarmed  him.  Hours, 
days,  passed,  and  still  he  was  there  with  his  daddy  ; 
watchful,  wistful,  trembling  at  every  sigh  and  at  every 
look,  agitated  incessantly  between  a  hope  which  re- 
lieved his  mind  and  a  discouragement  which  froze  his 
heart. 


128  DADDY'S  NURSE. 

On  the  fifth  day  the  sick  man  suddenly  grew  worse. 
The  doctor,  on  being  interrogated,  shook  his  head,  as 
much  as  to  saj-  that  all  was  over,  and  the  boy  flung 
himself  on  a  chair  and  burst  out  sobbing.  But  one 
thing  comforted  him.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
worse,  the  sick  man  seemed  to  be  slowly  regaining  a 
little  intelligence.  He  stared  at  the  lad  with  increas- 
ing intentness,  and,  with  an  expression  which  grew  in 
sweetness,  would  take  his  drink  and  medicine  from  no 
one  but  him,  and  made  strenuous  efforts  with  his  lips 
with  greater  frequency,  as  though  he  were  trying  to 
pronounce  some  word ;  and  he  did  it  so  plainly  some- 
times that  his  son  grasped  his  arm  violently,  inspired 
by  a  sudden  hope,  and  said  to  him  in  a  tone  which  was 
almost  that  of  joy,  "Courage,  courage,  daddy;  you 
will  get  well,  we  will  go  away  from  here,  we  will  re- 
turn home  with  mamma ;  courage,  for  a  little  while 
longer ! " 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  just  when 
the  boy  had  abandoned  himself  to  one  of  these  out- 
bursts of  tenderness  and  hope,  when  a  sound  of  foot- 
steps became  audible  outside  the  nearest  door  in  the 
ward,  and  then  a  strong  voice  uttering  two  words  only, 
—  "Farewell,  sister!"  —  which  made  him  spring  to 
his  feet,  with  a  cry  repressed  in  his  throat. 

At  that  moment  there  entered  the  ward  a  man  with 
a  thick  bandage  on  his  hand,  followed  by  a  sister. 

The  boy  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  stood  rooted  to 
the  spot. 

The  man  turned  round,  looked  at  him  for  a  moment, 
and  uttered  a  cry  in  his  turn,  —  "  Cicillo  !  "  —  and 
darted  towards  him. 

The  boy  fell  into  his  father's  arms,  choking  with 
emotion. 


DADDY'S  NURSE.  129 

The  sister,  the  nurse,  and  the  assistant  ran  up,  and 
stood  there  in  amazement. 

The  boy  could  not  recover  his  voice. 

"Oh,  my  Cicillo !  "  exclaimed  the  father,  after  be- 
stowing an  attentive  look  on  the  sick  man,  as  he  kissed 
the  boy  repeatedly-  "Cicillo,  my  son,  how  is  this? 
They  took  you  to  the  bedside  of  another  man.  And 
there  was  I,  in  despair  at  not  seeing  you  after  mamma 
had  written,  '  I  have  sent  him.'  Poor  Cicillo  !  How 
many  days  have  you  been  here  ?  How  did  this  mistake 
occur  ?  I  have  come  out  of  it  easily  !  I  have  a  good 
constitution,  you  know!  And  how  is  mamma?  And 
Concettella  ?  And  the  little  baby  —  how  are  they  all  ? 
I  am  leaving  the  hospital  now.  Corne,  then.  Oh, 
Lord  God  !  Who  would  have  thought  it !  " 

The  boy  tried  to  interpolate  a  few  words,  to  tell  the 
news  of  the  family.  "Oh  how  happy  I  am!"  he 
stammered.  "  How  happy  I  am  !  What  terrible  days 
I  have  passed  !  "  And  he  could  not  finish  kissing  his 
father. 

But  he  did  not  stir. 

"  Come,"  said  his  father;  "  we  can  get  home  this 
evening. "  And  lie  drew  the  lad  towards  him.  The 

O 

boy  turned  to  look  at  his  patient. 

"Well,  are  you  coming  or  not?"  his  father  de- 
manded, in  amazement. 

The  boy  cast  yet  another  glance  at  the  sick  man, 
who  opened  his  eyes  at  that  moment  and  gazed  intently 
at  him. 

Then  a  flood  of  words  poured  from  his  very  soul. 
"No,  daddy;  wait  —  here — I  can't.  Here  is  this  old 
man.  I  have  been  here  for  five  days.  He  gazes  at 
me  incessantly.  I  thought  he  was  you.  I  love  him 
dearly.  He  looks  at  me ;  I  give  him  his  drink  ;  he 


130  DADDY'S  NURSE. 

wants  me  always  beside  him ;  he  is  very  ill  now.  Have 
patience  ;  I  have  not  the  courage  —  I  don't  know  —  it 
pains  me  too  much ;  I  will  return  home  to-morrow ;  let 
me  stay  here  a  little  longer  ;  I  don't  at  all  like  to  leave 
him.  See  how  he  looks  at  me  !  I  don't  know  who  he 
is,  but  he  wants  me  ;  he  will  die  alone :  let  me  stay 
here,  dear  daddy  !  " 

"  Bravo,  little  fellow  !  "  exclaimed  the  attendant. 

The  father  stood  in  perplexity,  staring  at  the  boy ; 
then  he  looked  at  the  sick  man.  "Who  is  he?"  he 
inquired. 

"  A  countryman,  like  yourself,"  replied  the  attendant, 
"  just  arrived  from  abroad,  and  who  entered  the  hospi- 
tal on  the  very  day  that  you  entered  it.  He  was  out 
of  his  senses  when  they  brought  him  here,  and  could 
not  speak.  Perhaps  he  has  a  family  far  away,  and 
sous.  He  probably  thinks  that  your  son  is  one  of  his." 

The  sick  man  was  still  looking  at  the  boy. 

The  father  said  to  Cicillo,  "  Stay." 

"  He  will  not  have  to  stay  much  longer,"  murmured 
the  attendant. 

"Stay,"  repeated  his  father:  "you  have  heart. 
I  will  go  home  immediately,  to  relieve  mamma's  dis- 
tress. Here  is  a  scudo  for  your  expenses.  Good  by, 
my  brave  little  son,  until  we  meet !  " 

He  embraced  him,  looked  at  him  intently,  kissed 
him  again  on  the  brow,  and  went  away. 

The  boy  returned  to  his  post  at  the  bedside,  and  the 
sick  man  appeared  consoled.  And  Cicillo  began  again 
to  play  the  nurse,  no  longer  weeping,  but  with  the 
same  eagerness,  the  same  patience,  as  before  ;  he  again 
began  to  give  the  man  his  drink,  to  arrange  his  bed- 
clothes, to  caress  his  hand,  to  speak  softly  to  him,  to 
exhort  him  to  courage.  He  attended  him  all  that  day, 


DADDY'S  NURSE.  131 

all  that  night ;  he  remained  beside  him  all  the  follow- 
ing day.  But  the  sick  man  continued  to  grow  con- 
stantly worse ;  his  face  turned  a  purple  color,  his 
breathing  grew  heavier,  his  agitation  increased,  inar- 
ticulate cries  escaped  his  lips,  the  inflammation  became 
excessive.  On  his  evening  visit,  the  doctor  said  that 
he  would  not  live  through  the  night.  And  then  Cicillo 
redoubled  his  cares,  and  never  took  his  eyes  from  him 
for  a  minute.  The  sick  man  gazed  and  gazed  at  him, 
and  kept  moving  his  lips  from  time  to  time,  with  great 
effort,  as  though  he  wanted  to  say  something,  and  an 
expression  of  extraordinary  tenderness  passed  over  his 
eyes  now  and  then,  as  they  continued  to  grow  smaller 
and  more  dim.  And  that  night  the  boy  watched  with 
him  until  he  saw  the  first  rays  of  dawn  gleam  white 
through  the  windows,  and  the  sister  appeared.  The 
sister  approached  the  bed,  cast  a  glance  at  the  patient, 
and  then  went  away  with  rapid  steps.  A  few  moments 
later  she  reappeared  with  the  assistant  doctor,  and 
with  a  nurse,  who  carried  a  lantern. 

"  He  is  at  his  last  gasp,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  boy  clasped  the  sick  man's  hand.  The  latter 
opened  his  eyes,  gazed  at  him,  and  closed  them  once 
more. 

At  that  moment  the  lad  fancied  that  he  felt  his  hand 
pressed.  "  He  pressed  my  hand  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  doctor  bent  over  the  patient  for  an  instant,  then 
straightened  himself  up. 

The  sister  detached  a  crucifix  from  the  wall. 

"  He  is  dead  !  "  cried  the  boy. 

"Go,  my  son,"  said  the  doctor:  "your  work  of 
mercy  is  finished.  Go,  and  may  fortune  attend  you  ! 
for  you  deserve  it.  God  will  protect  you.  Farewell !  " 

The  sister,  who  had  stepped  aside  for  a  moment,  re- 


132  THE   WORKSHOP. 

turned  with  a  little  bunch  of  violets  which  she  had 
taken  from  a  glass  on  the  window-sill,  and  handed 
them  to  the  boy,  saying  :  — 

"I  have  nothing  else  to  give  you.  Take  these  in 
memory  of  the  hospital." 

"  Thanks,"  returned  the  boy,  taking  the  bunch  of 
flowers  with  one  hand  and  drying  his  eyes  with  the 
other ;  "  but  I  have  such  a  long  distance  to  go  on  foot 
—  I  shall  spoil  them."  And  separating  the  violets,  he 
scattered  them  over  the  bed,  saying :  "  I  leave  them  as 
a  memento  for  my  poor  dead  man.  Thanks,  sister ! 
thanks,  doctor !  "  Then,  turning  to  the  dead  man, 
' '  Farewell  —  "  And  while  he  sought  a  name  to  give 
him,  the  sweet  name  which  he  had  applied  to  him 
for  five  days  recurred  to  his  lips,  —  "Farewell,  poor 
daddy !  " 

So  saying,  he  took  his  little  bundle  of  clothes  under 
his  arm,  and,  exhausted  with  fatigue,  he  walked  slowly 
away.  The  day  was  dawning. 


THE   WORKSHOP. 

Saturday,  18th. 

Precossi  came  last  night  to  remind  me  that  I  was  to 
go  and  see  his  workshop,  which  is  down  the  street,  and 
this  morning  when  I  went  out  with  my  father,  I  got 
him  to  take  me  there  for  a  moment.  As  we  approached 
the  shop,  GarofH  issued  from  it  on  a  run,  with  a  pack- 
age in  his  hand,  and  making  his  big  cloak,  with  which 
he  covers  up  his  merchandise,  flutter.  Ah  !  now  I 
know  where  he  goes  to  pilfer  iron  filings,  which  he 
sells  for  old  papers,  that  barterer  of  a  Garoffi  !  When 
we  arrived  in  front  of  the  door,  we  saw  Precossi  seated 


THE    WORKSHOP.  133 

on  a  little  pile  of  bricks,  engaged  in  studying  his  lesson, 
with  his  book  resting  on  his  knees.  He  rose  quickly 
and  invited  us  to  enter.  It  was  a  large  apartment,  full 
of  coal-dust,  bristling  with  hammers,  pincers,  bars,  and 
old  iron  of  every  description  ;  and  in  one  corner  burned 
a  fire  in  a  small  furnace,  where  puffed  a  pair  of  bellows 
worked  by  a  boy.  Precossi,  the  father,  was  standing 
near  the  anvil,  and  a  young  man  was  holding  a  bar  of 
iron  in  the  fire. 

"Ah!  here  he  is,"  said  the  smith,  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  us,  and  he  lifted  his  cap,  "  the  nice 
boy  who  gives  away  railway  trains !  He  has  come  to 
see  me  work  a  little,  has  he  not  ?  I  shall  be  at  your 
service  in  a  moment."  And  as  he  said  it,  he  smiled  ; 
and  he  no  longer  had  the  ferocious  face,  the  malevolent 
eyes  of  former  days.  The  young  man  handed  him  a 
long  bar  of  iron  heated  red-hot  on  one  end,  and  the 
smith  placed  it  on  the  anvil.  He  was  making  one  of 
those  curved  bars  for  the  rail  of  terrace  balustrades. 
He  raised  a  large  hammer  and  began  to  beat  it,  pushing 
the  heated  part  now  here,  now  there,  between  one  point 
of  the  anvil  and  the  middle,  and  turning  it  about  in 
various  ways  ;  and  it  was  a  marvel  to  see  how  the 
iron  curved  beneath  the  rapid  and  accurate  blows  of 
the  hammer,  and  twisted,  and  gradually  assumed  the 
graceful  form  of  a  leaf  torn  from  a  flower,  like  a  pipe  of 
dough  which  he  had  modelled  with  his  hands.  And 
meanwhile  his  son  watched  us  with  a  certain  air  of 
pride,  as  much  as  to  say,  "See  how  m}*  father  works  !" 

"Do  you  see  how  it  is  done,  little  master?"  the 
blacksmith  asked  me,  when  he  had  finished,  holding  out 
the  bar,  which  looked  like  a  bishop's  crosier.  Then  he 
laid  it  aside,  and  thrust  another  into  the  fire. 

"  That  was  very  well  made,  indeed,"  my  father  said 


134  THE   WORKSHOP. 

to  him.     And  he  added,  "So  you  are  working  —  eh? 
You  have  returned  to  good  habits  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  returned,"  replied  the  workman,  wiping 
away  the  perspiration,  and  reddening  a  little.  "  And 
do  you  know  who  has  made  me  return  to  them  ?  "  M}* 
father  pretended  not  to  understand.  "  This  brave  boy," 
said  the  blacksmith,  indicating  his  son  with  his  finger ; 
"  that  brave  boy  there,  who  studied  and  did  honor  to 
his  father,  while  his  father  rioted,  and  treated  him  like  a 
dog.  When  I  saw  that  medal  —  Ah  !  thou  little  lad 
of  mine,  no  bigger  than  a  soldo1  of  cheese,  come  hither, 
that  I  may  take  a  good  look  at  thy  phiz  ! " 

The  boy  ran  to  him  instantly ;  the  smith  took  him 
and  set  him  directly  on  the  anvil,  holding  him  under 
the  arms,  and  said  to  him  :  — 

"Polish  off  the  frontispiece  of  this  big  beast  of  a 
daddy  of  yours  a  little  ! ' ' 

And  then  Precossi  covered  his  father's  black  face 
with  kisses,  until  he  was  all  black  himself. 

"  That's  as  it  should  be,"  said  the  smith,  and  he  set 
him  on  the  ground  again. 

"That  really  is  as  it  should  be,  Precossi!"  ex- 
claimed my  father,  delighted.  And  bidding  the  smith 
and  his  son  good  day,  he  led  me  awa}\  As  I  was 
going  out,  little  Precossi  said  to  me,  "Excuse  me," 
and  thrust  a  little  packet  of  nails  into  my  pocket. 
I  invited  him  to  come  and  view  the  Carnival  from  my 
house. 

"You  gave  him  your  railway  train,"  my  father  said 
tome  in  the  street;  "but  if  it  had  been  made  of 
gold  and  filled  with  pearls,  it  would  still  have  been  but 
a  petty  gift  to  that  sainted  son,  who  has  reformed  his 
father's  heart." 

1  The  twentieth  part  of  a  cubit;  Florentine  measure. 


THE  LITTLE  HARLEQUIN.  135 


THE   LITTLE   HARLEQUIN. 

Monday,  20th. 

The  whole  city  is  in  a  tumult  over  the  Carnival, 
which  is  nearing  its  close.  In  every  square  rise  booths 
of  mountebanks  and  jesters  ;  and  we  have  under  our 
windows  a  circus-tent,  in  which  a  little  Venetian  com- 
pany, with  five  horses,  is  giving  a  show.  The  circus 
is  in  the  centre  of  the  square ;  and  in  one  corner 
there  are  three  very  large  .vans  in  which  the  mounte- 
banks sleep  and  dress  themselves,  —  three  small  houses, 
on  wheels,  with  their  tiny  windows,  and  a  chimney 
in  each  of  them,  which  smokes  continually  ;  and  be- 
tween window  and  window  the  baby's  swaddling-bands 
are  stretched.  There  is  one  woman  who  is  nursing 
a  child,  who  prepares  the  food,  and  dances  on  the 
tight-rope.  Poor  people !  The  word  mountebank  is 
spoken  as  though  it  were  an  insult ;  but  they  earn 
their  living  honestly,  nevertheless,  by  amusing  all 
the  world  —  and  how  they  work  !  All  day  vlong  they 
run  back  and  forth  between  the  circus-tent  and  the 
vans,  in  tights,  in  all  this  cold  ;  they  snatch  a  mouth- 
ful or  two  in  haste,  standing,  between  two  perform- 
ances ;  and  sometimes,  when  they  get  their  tent  full, 
a  wind  arises,  wrenches  away  the  ropes  and  extin- 
guishes the  lights,  and  then  good  by  to  the  show  ! 
They  are  obliged  to  return  the  money,  and  to  work  the 
entire  night  at  repairing  their  booth.  There  are  two 
lads  who  work ;  and  my  father  recognized  the  smallest 
one  as  he  was  traversing  the  square  ;  and  he  is  the 
son  of  the  proprietor,  the  same  one  whom  we  saw  per- 
form tricks  on  horseback  last  year  in  a  circus  on  the 
Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele.  And  he  has  grown  ;  he 


136  THE  LITTLE  HARLEQUIN. 

must  be  eight  years  old :  he  is  a  handsome  boy,  with  a 
round  and  roguish  face,  with  so  many  black  curls  that 
they  escape  from  his  pointed  cap.  He  is  dressed  up  like 
a  harlequin,  decked  out  in  a  sort  of  sack,  with  sleeves 
of  white,  embroidered  with  black,  and  his  slippers  are 
of  cloth.  He  is  a  merry  little  imp.  He  charms  every 
one.  He  does  everything.  We  see  him  early  in  the 
morning,  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  carrying  milk  to  his 
wooden  house ;  then  he  goes  to  get  the  horses  at  the 
boarding-stable  on  the  Via  Bertola.  He  holds  the  tiny 
baby  in  his  arms  ;  he  transports  hoops,  trestles,  rails, 
ropes ;  he  cleans  the  vans,  lights  the  fire,  and  in  his 
leisure  moments  he  always  hangs  about  his  mother. 
My  father  is  always  watching  him  from  the  window, 
and  does  nothing  but  talk  about  him  and  his  family, 
who  have  the  air  of  nice  people,  and  of  being  fond  of 
their  children. 

One  evening  we  went  to  the  circus :  it  was  cold  ; 
there  was  hardly  any  one  there  ;  but  the  little  harlequin 
exerted  himself  greatly  to  cheer  those  few  people  :  he 
executed  precarious  leaps  ;  he  caught  hold  of  the  horses' 
tails  ;  he  walked  with  his  legs  in  the  air,  all  alone  ;  he 
sang,  always  with  a  smile  constantly  on  his  handsome 
little  brown  face.  And  his  father,  who  had  on  a  red 
vest  and  white  trousers,  with  tall  boots,  and  a  whip  in 
his  hand,  watched  him  :  but  it  was  melancholy.  My 
father  took  pity  on  him,  and  spoke  of  him  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  to  Delis  the  painter,  who  came  to  see  us. 
These  poor  people  were  killing  themselves  with  hard 
work,  and  their  affairs  were  going  so  badly  !  The  little 
boy  pleased  him  so  much  !  What  could  be  done  for 
them  ?  The  painter  had  an  idea. 

"Write  a  fine  article  for  the  Gazette"  he  said: 
"  you  know  how  to  write  well :  relate  the  miraculous 


THE  LITTLE  HARLEQUIN.  137 

things  which  the  little  harlequin  does,  and  I  will  take 
his  portrait  for  you.  Everybody  reads  the  Gazette,  and 
people  will  flock  thither  for  once." 

And  thus  they  did.  My  father  wrote  a  fine  article, 
full  of  jests,  which  told  all  that  we  had  observed  from 
the  window,  and  inspired  a  desire  to  see  and  caress  the 
little  artist ;  and  the  painter  sketched  a  little  portrait 
which  was  graceful  and  a  good  likeness,  and  which 
was  published  on  Saturday  evening.  And  behold  !  at 
the  Sunday  performance  a  great  crowd  rushed  to  the 
circus.  The  announcement  was  made :  Performance 
for  the  Benefit  of  the  Little  Harlequin,  as  he  was  styled 
in  the  Gazette.  The  circus  was  crammed  ;  man}-  of  the 
spectators  held  the  Gazette  in  their  hands,  and  showed 
it  to  the  little  harlequin,  who  laughed  and  ran  from  one 
to  another,  perfectly  delighted.  The  proprietor  was  de- 
lighted also.  Just  fancy  !  Not  a  single  newspaper  had 
ever  done  him  such  an  honor,  and  the  money-box  was 
filled.  My  father  sat  Reside  me.  Among  the  specta- 
tors we  found  persons  of  our  acquaintance.  Near  the 
entrance  for  the  horses  stood  the  teacher  of  gymnas- 
tics—  the  one  who  has  been  with  Garibaldi;  and  op- 
posite us,  in  the  second  row,  was  the  little  mason,  with 
his  little  round  face,  seated  beside  his  gigantic  father ; 
and  no  sooner  did  he  catch  sight  of  me  than  he  made 
a  hare's  face  at  me.  A  little  further  on  I  espied 
Garoffi,  who  was  counting  the  spectators,  and  calcu- 
lated on  his  fingers  how  much  money  the  compam-  had 
taken  in.  On  one  of  the  chairs  in  the  first  row,  not 
far  from  us,  there  was  also  poor  Robetti,  the  boy  who 
saved  the  child  from  the  omnibus,  with  his  crutches 
between  his  knees,  pressed  close  to  the  side  of  his 
father,  the  artillery  captain,  who  kept  one  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  The  performance  began.  The  little  harlequin 


138  THE  LITTLE  HAELEQUIN. 

accomplished  wonders  on  his  horse,  on  the  trapeze,  on 
the  tight-rope ;  and  every  time  that  he  jumped  down, 
ever}'  one  clapped  their  hands,  and  many  pulled  his  curls. 
Then  several  others,  rope-dancers,  jugglers,  and  riders, 
clad  in  tights,  and  sparkling  with  silver,  went  through 
their  exercises ;  but  when  the  boy  was  not  performing, 
the  audience  seemed  to  grow  weary.  At  a  certain  point 
I  saw  the  teacher  of  gymnastics,  who  held  his  post  at 
the  entrance  for  the  horses,  whisper  in  the  ear  of  the 
proprietor  of  the  circus,  and  the  latter  instantly  glanced 
around,  as  though  in  search  of  some  one.  His  glance 
rested  on  us.  My  father  perceived  it,  and  understood 
that  the  teacher  had  revealed  that  he  was  the  author  of 
the  article,  and  in  order  to  escape  being  thanked,  he 
hastily  retreated,  saying  to  me  :  — 

"  Remain,  Enrico  ;  I  will  wait  for  you  outside." 
After  exchanging  a  few  words  with  his  father,  the  lit- 
tle harlequin  went  through  still  another  trick :  erect 
upon  a  galloping  horse,  he  appeared  in  four  characters 
—  as  a  pilgrim,  a  sailor,  a  soldier,  and  an  acrobat ;  and 
every  time  that  he  passed  near  me,  he  looked  at  me. 
And  when  he  dismounted,  he  began  to  make  the  tour 
of  the  circus,  with  his  harlequin's  cap  in  his  hand,  and 
everybody  threw  soldi  or  sugar-plums  into  it.  I  had 
two  soldi  ready  ;  but  when  he  got  in  front  of  me,  in- 
stead of  offering  his  cap,  he  drew  it  back,  gave  me  a 
look  and  passed  on.  I  was  mortified.  Why  had  he 
offered  me  that  affront? 

The  performance  came  to  an  end ;  the  proprietor 
thanked  the  audience ;  and  all  the  people  rose  also, 
and  thronged  to  the  doors.  I  was  confused  b}'  the 
crowd,  and  was  on  the  point  of  going  out,  when  I  felt 
a  touch  on  my  hand.  I  turned  round  :  it  was  the  little 
harlequin,  with  his  tiny  brown  face  and  his  black  curls, 


THE  LAST  DAT  OF  THE  CARNIVAL.  139 

who  was  smiling  at  me  ;  he  had  his  hands  full  of  sugar- 
plums. Then  I  understood. 

"  Will  you  accept  these  sugar-plums  from  the  little 
harlequin?"  said  he  to  me,  in  his  dialect. 

I  nodded,  and  took  three  or  four. 

"  Then,"  he  added,  u  please  accept  a  kiss  also." 

"Give  me  two,"  I  answered;  and  held  up  mv" 
face  to  him.  He  rubbed  off  his  floury  face  with  his 
hand,  put  his  arm  round  my  neck,  and  planted  two 
kisses  on  my  cheek,  saying  :  — 

"  There  !  take  one  of  them  to  vour  father." 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  THE  CARNIVAL. 

Tuesday,  21st. 

What  a  sad  scene  was  that  which  we  witnessed 
to-day  at  the  procession  of  the  masks  !  It  ended  well ; 
but  it  might  have  resulted  in  a  great  misfortune.  In 
the  San  Carlo  Square,  all  decorated  with  red,  white, 
and  yellow  festoons,  a  vast  multitude  had  assembled  ; 
masks  of  every  hue  were  flitting  about ;  cars,  gilded 
and  adorned,  in  the  shape  of  pavilions  ;  little  theatres, 
.barks  filled  with  harlequins  and  warriors,  cooks,  sailors, 
and  shepherdesses  ;  there  was  such  a  confusion  that  one 
knew  not  where  to  look ;  a  tremendous  clash  of  trum- 
pets, horns,  and  cymbals  lacerated  the  ears ;  and  the 
masks  on  the  chariots  drank  and  sang,  as  the}*  apos- 
trophized the  people  in  the  streets  and  at  the  windows, 
who  retorted  at  the  top  of  their  lungs,  and  hurled 
oranges  and  sugar-plums  at  each  other  vigorously ; 
and  above  the  chariots  and  the  throng,  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach,  one  could  see  banners  fluttering, 
helmets  gleaming,  plumes  waving,  gigantic  pasteboard 


140  THE  LAST  DAY  OF   THE  CARNIVAL. 

heads  moving,  huge  head-dresses,  enormous  trumpets, 
fantastic  arms,  little  drums,  castanets,  red  caps,  and 
bottles;  —  all  the  world  seemed  to  have  gone  mad. 
When  our  carriage  entered  the  square,  a  magnificent 
chariot  was  driving  in  front  of  us,  drawn  by  four 
horses  covered  with  trappings  embroidered  in  gold, 
and  all  wreathed  in  artificial  roses,  upon  which  there 
were  fourteen  or  fifteen  gentlemen  masquerading  as 
gentlemen  at  the  court  of  -France,  all  glittering  with 
silk,  with  huge  white  wigs,  a  plumed  hat,  under  the  arm. 
a  small-sword,  and  a  tuft  of  ribbons  and  laces  on  the 
breast.  They  were  very  gorgeous.  They  were  singing 
a  French  canzonette  in  concert  and  throwing  sweet- 
meats to  the  people,  and»  the  people  clapped  their 
hands  and  shouted.  Suddenly,  on  our  left,  we  saw 
a  man  lift  a  child  of  five  or  six  above  the  heads  of 
the  crowd,  —  a  poor  little  creature,  who  wept  piteously, 
and  flung  her  arms  about  as  though  in  a  fit -of  convul- 
sions. The  man  made  his.  way  to  the  gentlemen's 
chariot;  one  of  the  latter  bent  down,  and  the  othet 
said  aloud :  — 

"Take  this  child;  she  has  lost  her  mother  in  the 
crowd  ;  hold  her  in  your  arms ;  the  mother  may  not 
be  far  off,  and  she  will  catch  sight  of  her :  there  is, 
no  other  wa}*." 

The  gentleman  took  the  child  in  his  arms  :  all  the 
rest  stopped  singing ;  the'  child  screamed  and  strug- 
gled ;  the  gentleman  removed .  his  mask ;  the  chariot 
continued  to  move  slowly  onwards.  Meanwhile,  as 
we  were  afterwards  informed,  at  the  opposite  extremity 
of  the  square  a  poor  woman,  half  crazed  with  despair, 
was  forcing  her  way  through  the  crowd,  by  dint  of 
shoves  and  elbowing,  and  shrieking  :  — 

"Maria!    Maria!    Maria!      I   have   lost   my   little 


THE  LAST  DAT  OF  THE  CARNIVAL.  141 

daughter  !  She  has  been  stolen  from  me  !  They  have 
suffocated  my  child  !  "  And  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
she  rav,ed  and  expressed  her  despair  in  this  manner, 
straying  now  a  little  way  in  this  direction,  and  then 
a  little  way  in  that,  crushed  by  the  throng  through 
which  she  strove  to  force  her  way. 

The  gentleman  on  the  car  was  meanwhile  holding 
the  child  pressed  against  the  ribbons  and  laces  on  his 
breast,  casting  glances  over  the  square,  and  trying  to 
calm  the  poor  creature,  who  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  not  knowing  where  she  was,  and  sobbed  as 
though  she  would  break  her  heart.  The  gentleman  was 
touched :  it  was  evident  that  these  screams  went  to 
his  soul.  All  the  others  offered  the  child  oranges  and 
sugar-plums  ;  but  she  repulsed  them  all,  and  grew  con- 
stantly more  convulsed  and  frightened. 

"  Find  her  mother !"  shouted  the  gentleman  to  the 
crowd;  "seek  her  mother!"  And  everyone  turned 
to  the  right  and  the  left ;  but  the  mother  was  not  to 
be  found.  Finally,  a  few  paces  from  the  place  where 
the  Via  Roma  enters  the  square,  a  woman  was  seen 
to  rush  towards  the  chariot.  Ah,  *[  shall  never  forget 
that !  She  no  longer  seemed  a  human  creature  :  her 
hair  was  streaming,  her  face  distorted,  her-  garments 
torn  ;  she  hurled  herself  forward  with  a  rattle  in  her 
throat,  —  one  knew  not  wliether  to  attribute  it  to  either 
joy,  anguish,  or  rage,  —  and  darted  out  her  hands  like 
two  claws  to  snatch  her  child.  The  chariot  halted. 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  the  gentleman,  reaching  out  thfe 
child  after  kissing  it ;  and  he  placed  her  in  her  mother's 
arms,  who  pressed  her  to  her  breast  like  a  fury.  But 
ojae  of  the  tiny  hands  rested  a  second  longer  in  the 
hands  of  the  gentleman  ;  and  the  latter,  pulling  off  of 
his  right  hand  a  goM  ring  set  with  a  large  diamond, 


142  THE  BLIND  BOYS. 

and  slipping  it  with  a  rapid  movement  upon  the  finger 
of  the  little  girl,  said  :  — 

"  Take  this  ;  it  shall  be  your  marriage  dowry." 
The  mother  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  as  though  en- 
chanted ;  the  crowd  broke  into  applause  ;  the  gentleman 
pat  on  his  mask  again,  his  companions  resumed  their 
song,  and  the  chariot  started  on  again  slowly,  amid  a 
tempest  of  hand-clapping  and  hurrahs. 


THE  BLIND    BOYS. 

Thursday,  24th. 

The  master  is  very  ill,  and  they  have  sent  in  his 
stead  the  master  of  the  fourth  grade,  who  has  been  a 
teacher  in  the  Institute  for  the  Blind.  He  is  the  oldest 
of  all  the  instructors,  with  hair  so  white  that  it  looks 
like  a  wig  made  of  cotton,  and  he  speaks  in  a  peculiar 
manner,  as  though  he  were  chanting  a  melancholy 
song  ;  but  he  does  it  well,  and  he  knows  a  great  deal. 
No  sooner  had  he  entered  the  schoolroom  than,  catch- 
ing sight  of  a  boy  with  a  bandage  on  his  eye,  he 
approached  the  bench,  and  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter. 

"  Take  care  of  your  eyes,  my  boy,"  he  said  to  him. 
And  then  Derossi  asked  him  :  — 

"Is  it  true,  sir,  that  you  have  been  a  teacher  of 
the  blind?" 

"  Yes,  for  several  years,"  he  replied.  And  Derossi 
said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Tell  us  something  about  it." 

The  master  went  and  seated  himself  at  his  table. 

Coretti  said  aloud,  "The  Institute  for  the  Blind  is 
in  the  Via  Nizza." 

"You  say  blind — blind,"  said  the  master,  "as  you 


THE  BLIND  BOYS.  .     143 

would  say  poor  or  ill,  or  I  know  not  what.  But  do  you 
thoroughly  comprehend  the  significance  of  that  word? 
Reflect  a  little.  Blind  !  Never  to  see  anything  !  Not 
to  be  able  to  distinguish  the  day  from  night ;  to  see 
neither  the  sky,  nor  sun,  nor  your  parents,  nor  any- 
thing of  what  is  around  3*011,  and  which  you  touch  ; 
to  be  immersed  in  a  perpetual  obscurity,  and  as  though 
buried  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth !  Make  a  little 
effort  to  close  your  eyes,  and  to  think  of  being  obliged 
to  remain  forever  thus  ;  you  will  suddenly  be  over- 
whelmed by  a  mental  agony,  by  terror;  it  will  seem  to 
you  impossible  to  resist,  that  you  must  burst  into  a 
scream,  that  you  must  go  mad  or  die.  But,  poor  boys  ! 
when  you  enter  the  Institute  of  the  Blind  for  the  first 
time,  during  their  recreation  hour,  and  hear  them  play- 
ing on  violins  and  flutes  in  all  directions,  and  talking 
loudly  and  laughing,  ascending  and  descending  the 
stairs  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  wandering  freely  through 
the  corridors  and  dormitories,  you  would  never  pro- 
nounce these  unfortunates  to  be  the  unfortunates  that 
they  are.  It  is  necessary  to  observe  them  closely. 
There  are  lads  of  sixteen  or  eighteen,  robust  and 
cheerful,  who  bear  their  blindness  with  a  certain  ease, 
almost  with  hardihood ;  but  you  understand  from  a 
certain  proud,  resentful  expression  of  countenance 
that  they  must  have  suffered  tremendously  before  they 
became  resigned  to  this  misfortune. 

"  There  are  others,  with  sweet  and  pallid  faces,  on 
which  a  profound  resignation  is  visible  ;  but  they  are 
sad,  and  one  understands  that  they  must  still  weep  at 
times  in  secret.  Ah,  my  sons  !  reflect  that  some  of 
them  have  lost  their  sight  in  a  few  daj'S,  some  after 
years  of  martyrdom  and  many  terrible  chirurgical  oper- 
ations, and  that  many  were  born  so, — born  into  a 


144  THE  BLIND  BOYS. 

night  that  has  no  dawn  for  them,  that  they  entered  into 
the  world  as  into  an  immense  tomb,  and  that  they  do 
not  know  what  the  human  countenance  is  like.  Picture 
to  yourself  how  they  must  have  suffered,  and  how  they 
must  still  suffer,  when  they  think  thus  confusedly  of 
the  tremendous  difference  between  themselves  and  those 
who  see,  and  ask  themselves,  '  Why  this  difference,  if 
we  are  not  to  blame  ? ' 

"  I  who  have  spent  many  years  among  them,  when  I 
recall  that  class,  all  those  eyes  forever  sealed,  all  those 
pupils  without  sight  and  without  life,  and  then  look  at 
the  rest  of  you,  it  seems  impossible  to  me  that  you 
should  not  all  be  happy.  Think  of  it!  there  are  about 
twenty-six  thousand  blind  persons  in  Italy  !  Twenty- 
six  thousand  persons  who  do  not  see  the  light  —  do 
you  understand?  An  army  which  would  employ  four 
hours  in  marching  past  our  windows." 

The  master  paused.  Not  a  breath  was  audible  in  all 
the  school.  Derossi  asked  if  it  were  true  that  the 
blind  have  a  finer  sense  of  feeling  than  the  rest  of  us. 

The  master  said  :  "  It  is  true.  All  the  other  senses 
are  finer  in  them,  because,  since  they  must  replace, 
among  them,  that  of  sight,  they  are  more  and  better 
exercised  than  they  are  in  the  case  of  those  who 
see.  In  the  morning,  in  the  dormitory,  one  asks 
another,  'Is  the  sun  shining?'  and  the  one  who  is 
the  most  alert  in  dressing  runs  instantly  into  the  yard, 
and  flourishes  his  hands  in  the  air,  to  find  out  whether 
there  is  an}r  warmth  of  the  sun  perceptible,  and  then 
he  runs  to  communicate  the  good  news,  '  The  sun  is 
shining  !  '  From  the  voice  of  a  person  they  obtain  an 
idea  of  his  height.  We  judge  of  a  man's  soul  by  his 
eyes  ;  they,  by  his  voice.  They  remember  intonations 
and  accents  for  years.  They  perceive  if  there  is  more 


THE  BLIND  SOYS.  145 

than  one  person  in  a  room,  even  if  only  one  speaks, 
and  the  rest  remain  motionless.  They  know  by  their 
touch  whether  a  spoon  is  more  or  less  polished.  Little 
girls  distinguish  dyed  wools  from  that  which  is  of  the 
natural  color.  As  they  walk  two  and  two  along  the 
streets,  they  recognize  nearly  all  the  shops  by  their 
odors,  even  those  in  which  we  perceive  no  odor.  They 
spin  top,  and  by  listening  to  its  humming  they  go 
straight  to  it  and  pick  it  up  without  any  mistake.  They 
trundle  hoop,  play  at  ninepins,  jump  the  rope,  build 
little  houses  of  stones,  pick  violets  as  though  the}7  saw 
them,  make  mats  and  baskets,  weaving  together  straw 
of  various  colors  rapidly  and  well  —  to  such  a  degree  is 
their  sense  of  touch  skilled.  The  sense  of  touch  is 
their  sight.  One  of  their  greatest  pleasures  is  to  handle, 
to  grasp,  to  guess  the  forms  of  things  by  feeling  them. 
It  is  affecting  to  see  them  when  they  are  taken  to  the 
Industrial  Museum,  where  they  are  allowed  to  handle 
whatever  they  please,  and  to  observe  with  what  eager- 
ness they  fling  themselves  on  geometrical  bodies,  on 
little  models  of  houses,  on  instruments  ;  with  what  joy 
they  feel  over  and  rub  and  turn  everything  about  in 
their  hands,  in  order  to  see  how  it  is  made.  They  call 
this  seeing!" 

Garoffi  interrupted  the  teacher  to  inquire  if  it  was 
true  that  blind  boys  learn  to  reckon  better  than  others 

The  master  replied:  "It  is  true.  They  learn  to 
reckon  and  to  write.  They  have  books  made  on  pur- 
pose for  them,  with  raised  characters  ;  they  pass  their 
fingers  over  these,  recognize  the  letters  and  pronounce 
the  words.  They  read  rapidly ;  and  you  should  see 
them  blush,  poor  little  things,  when  they  make  a  mis- 
take. And  they  write,  too,  without  ink,  They  write 
on  a  thick  and  hard  sort  of  paper  with  a  metal  bod- 


146  THE  BLIND  BOYS. 

kin,  which  makes  a  great  many  little  hollows,  grouped 
according  to  a  special  alphabet ;  these  little  punctures 
stand  out  in  relief  on  the  other  side  of  the  paper,  so 
that  by  turning  the  paper  over  and  drawing  their  fingers 
across  these  projections,  they  can  read  what  they  have 
written,  and  also  the  writing  of  others ;  and  thus  they 
write  compositions :  and  they  write  letters  to  each 
other.  They  write  numbers  in  the  same  way,  and 
they  make  calculations  ;  and  they  calculate  mentally 
with  an  incredible  facility,  since  their  minds  are  not 
diverted  by  the  sight  of  surrounding  objects,  as  ours 
are.  And  if  you  could  see  how  passionately  fond  they 
are  of  reading,  how  attentive  the}'  are,  how  well  they 
remember  everything,  how  they  discuss  among  them- 
selves, even  the  little  ones,  of  things  connected  with 
history  and  language,  as  they  sit  four  or  five  on 
the  same  bench,  without  turning  to  each  other,  and 
converse,  the  first  with  the  third,  the  second  with  the 
fourth,  in  a  loud  voice  and  all  together,  without  losing 
a  single  word,  so  acute  and  prompt  is  their  hearing. 

"And  they  attach  more  importance  to  the  examina- 
tions than  3Tou  do,  I  assure  you,  and  they  are  fonder 
of  their  teachers.  They  recognize  their  teacher  by  his 
step  and  his  odor  ;  they  perceive  whether  he  is  in  a  good 
or  bad  humor,  whether  he  is  well  or  ill,  simply  by  the 
sound  of  a  single  word  of  his.  They  want  the  teacher 
to  touch  them  when  he  encourages  and  praises  them, 
and  they  feel  of  his  hand  and  his  arms  in  order  to 
express  their  gratitude.  And  they  love  each  other  and 
are  good  comrades  to  each  other.  In  play  time  they 
are  always  together,  according  to  their  wont.  In  the 
girls'  school,  for  instance,  they  form  into  groups  ac- 
cording to  the  instrument  on  which  they  play,  — • 
violinists,  pianists,  and  flute-players,  —  and  they  never 


. ,  i .—  - 

-- 
THE  BLIND   BOYS. —Page  147. 


THE  BLIND  BOYS.  147 

separate.  When  they  have  become  attached  to  any 
one,  it  is  difficult  for  them  to  break  it  off.  They  take 
much  comfort  in  friendship.  They  judge  correctly 
among  themselves.  They  have  a  clear  and  profound 
idea  of  good  and  evil.  No  one  grows  so  enthusiastic 
as  they  over  the  narration  of  a  generous  action,  of  a 
grand  deed." 

Votini  inquired  if  they  played  well. 

"  The}*  are  ardently  fond  of  music,"  replied  the  mas- 
ter. "It  is  their  delight:  music  is  their  life.  Little 
blind  children,  when  they  first  enter  the  Institute,  are 
capable  of  standing  three  hours  perfectly  motionless, 
to  listen  to  playing.  They  learn  easily ;  they  play 
with  fire.  When  the  teacher  tells  one  of  them  that 
he  has  not  a  talent  for  music,  he  feels  very  sor- 
rowful, but  he  sets  to  studying  desperately.  Ah !  if 
you  could  hear  the  music  there,  if  you  could  see  them 
when  they  are  playing,  with  their  heads  thrown  back, 
a  smile  on  their  lips,  their  faces  aflame,  trembling 
with  emotion,  in  ecstasies  at  listening  to  that  harmony 
which  replies  to  them  in  the  obscurity  which  envelops 
them,  you  would  feel  what  a  divine  consolation  is 
music  !  And  the}'  shout  for  joy,  they  beam  with  hap- 
piness when  a  teacher  says  to  them,  ;'  You  will 
become  an  artist."  The  one  who  is  first  in  music,  who 
succeeds  the  best  on  the  violin  or  piano,  is  like  a  king 
to  them  ;  they  love,  they  venerate  him.  If  a  quarrel 
arises  between  two  of  them,  they  go  to  him ;  if  two 
friends  fall  out,  it  is  he  who  reconciles  them.  The 
smallest  pupils,  whom  he  teaches  to  play,  regard  him 
as  a  father.  Then  all  go  to  bid  him  good  night  before 
retiring  to  bed.  And  they  talk  constantly  of  music. 
They  are  already  in  bed,  late  at  night,  wearied  by 
study  and  work,  and  half  asleep,  and  still  they  are  dis- 


148  1~HE   BLIA'D 

cussing,  in  a  low  tone,  operas,  masters,  instruments, 
and  orchestras.  It  is  so  great  a  punishment  for  them 
to  be  deprived  of  the  reading,  or  lesson  in  music,  it 
causes  them  such  sorrow  that  one  hardly  ever  has  the 
courage  to  punish  them  in  that  way.  That  which  the 
light  is  to  our  eyes,  music  is  to  their  hearts." 

Derossi  asked  whether  we  could  not  go  to  see  them. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  teacher;  "but  you  boys  must 
not  go  there  now.  You  shall  go  there  later  on,  when 
you  are  in  a  condition  to  appreciate  the  whole  extent 
of  this  misfortune,  and  to  feel  all  the  compassion  which 
it  merits.  It  is  a  sad  sight,  my  boys.  You  will  some- 
times see  there  boys  seated  in  front  of  an  open 
window,  enjoj'ing  the  fresh  air,  with  immovable  coun- 
tenances, which  seem  to  be  gazing  at  the  wide  green 
expanse  and  the  beautiful  blue  mountains  which  you 
can  see  ;  and  when  you  remember  that  they  see  nothing 
—  that  they  will  never  see  an3'thing  —  of  that  vast  loveli- 
ness, your  soul  is  oppressed,  as  though  3-011  had  your- 
selves become  blind  at  that  moment.  And  then  there 
are  those  who  were  born  blind,  who,  as  the}*  have 
never  seen  the  world,  do  not  complain  because  they 
do  not  possess  the  image  of  anything,  and  who, 
therefore,  arouse  less  compassion.  But  there  are  lads 
who  have  been  blind  but  a  few  months,  who  still  recall 
everything,  who  thoroughly  understand  all  that  they  have 
lost ;  and  these  have,  in  addition,  the  grief  of  feeling 
their  minds  obscured,  the  dearest  images  grow  a  little 
more  dim  in  their  minds  day  by  day,  of  feeling  the 
persons  whom  they  have  loved  the  most  die  out  of  their 
memories.  One  of  these  boys  said  to  me  one  day, 
with  inexpressible  sadness,  '  I  should  like  to  have 
my  sight  again,  only  for  a  moment,  in  order  to  see 
mamma's  face  once  more,  for  I  no  longer  remember 


THE  SICK  MASTER.  149 

it ! '  And  when  their  mothers  come  to  see  them, 
the  boys  place  their  hands  on  her  face  ;  they  feel  her 
over  thoroughly  from  brow  to  chin,  and  her  ears, 
to  see  how  they  are  made,  and  they  can  hardly 
persuade  themselves  that  they  cannot  see  her,  and 
they  call  her  by  name  many  times,  to  beseech  her 
that  she  will  allow  them,  that  she  will  make  them  see 
her  just  once.  How  many,  even  hard-hearted  men, 
go  away  in  tears  !  And  when  you  do  go  out,  your 
case  seems  to  you  to  be  the  exception,  and  the  power 
to  see  people,  houses,  and  the  sky  a  hardly  deserved 
privilege.  Oh  !  there  is  not  one  of  you,  I  am  sure, 
who,  on  emerging  thence,  would  not  feel  disposed 
to  deprive  himself  of  a  portion  of  his  own  sight,  in 
order  to  bestow  a  gleam  at  least  upon  all  those  poor 
children,  for  whom  the  sun  has  no  light,  for  whom  a 
mother  has  no  face  !  " 


THE   SICK  MASTER, 

Saturday,  25th. 

Yesterday  afternoon,  on  coming  out  of  school,  I  went 
to  pay  a  visit  to  my  sick  master.  He  made  himself  ill 
by  overworking.  Five  hours  of  teaching  a  day,  then 
an  hour  of  gymnastics,  then  two  hours  more  of  evening 
school,  which  is  equivalent  to  saying  but  little  sleep, 
getting  his  food  by  snatches,  and  working  breathlessly 
from  morning  till  night.  He  has  ruined  his  health. 
That  is  what  my  .nother  says.  My  mother  was 
waiting  for  me  at  the  big  door ;  I  came  out  alone,  and 
on  the  stairs  I  met  the  teacher  with  the  black  beard  — 
Coatti,  —  the  one  who  frightens  every  one  and  pun- 
ishes no  one.  He  stared  at  me  with  wide-open  eyes, 
and  made  his  voice  like  that  of  a  lion,  in  jest,  but 


150  THE  SICK  MASTER. 

without  laughing.  I  was  still  laughing  when  I  pulled 
the  bell  on  the  fourth  floor ;  but  I  ceased  very  suddenly 
when  the  servant  let  me  into  a  wretched,  half-lighted 
room,  where  m}-  teacher  was  in  bed.  He  was  lying  in 
a  little  iron  bed.  His  beard  was  long.  He  put  one 
hand  to  his  brow  in  order  to  see  better,  and  exclaimed 
in  his  affectionate  voice  :  — 

"  Oh,  Enrico!" 

I  approached  the  bed ;  he  laid  one  hand  on  my 
shoulder  and  said  :  — 

"  Good,  m}'  boy.  You  have  done  well  to  come  and 
see  your  poor  teacher.  I  am  reduced  to  a  sad  state, 
as  you  see,  my  dear  Enrico.  And  how  fares  the 
school?  How  are  your  comrades  getting  along?  All 
well,  eh?  Even  without  me?  You  do  very  well  with- 
out your  old  master,  do  you  not  ?  " 

I  was  on  the  point  of  saying  "  no"  ;  he  interrupted 
me. 

"  Come,  come,  I  know  that  you  do  not  hate  me !  " 
and  he  heaved  a  sigh. 

I  glanced  at  some  photographs  fastened  to  the  wall. 

"  Do  you  see?"  he  said  to  me.  "All  of  them  are 
of  boys  who  gave  me  their  photographs  more  than 
twenty  years  ago.  They  were  good  boys.  These  are 
my  souvenirs.  When  I  die,  my  last  glance  will  be  at 
them ;  at  those  roguish  urchins  among  whom  my  life 
has  been  passed.  You  will  give  me  your  portrait, 
also,  will  you  not,  when  you  have  finished  the  elemen- 
tary course?"  Then  he  took  an  orange  from  his  night- 
stand,  and  put  it  in  my  hand. 

"  I  have  nothing  else  to  give  you,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is 
the  gift  of  a  sick  man." 

I  looked  at  it,  and  my  heart  was  sad ;  I  know  not 
why. 


THE  STREET,  151 

"  Attend  to  me,"  he  began  again.  "  I  hope  to 
get  over  this;  but  if  I  should  not  recover,  see  that 
you  strengthen  yourself  in  arithmetic,  which  is  your 
weak  point ;  make  an  effort.  It  is  merely  a  question  of 
a  first  effort :  because  sometimes  there  is  no  lack  of 
aptitude  ;  there  is  merely  an  absence  of  a  fixed  purpose 
—  of  stability,  as  it  is  called." 

But  in  the  meantime  he  was  breathing  hard  ;  and 
it  was  evident  that  he  was  suffering. 

"I  am  feverish,"  he  sighed;  "I  am  half  gone;  I 
beseech  you,  therefore,  apply  yourself  to  arithmetic, 
to  problems.  If  you  don't  succeed  at  first,  rest  a  little 
and  begin  afresh.  And  press  forward,  but  quietly  ; 
without  fagging  yourself,  without  straining  your  mind. 
Go !  My  respects  to  your  mamma.  And  do  not 
mount  these  stairs  again.  We  shall  see  each  other 
again  in  school.  And  if  we  do  not,  }'ou  must  now 
and  then  call  to  mind  your  master  of  the  third  grade, 
who  was  fond  of  you." 

I  felt  inclined  to  cry  at  these  words. 

"  Bend  down  your  head,"  he  said  to  me. 

I  bent  my  head  to  his  pillow  ;  he  kissed  my  hair. 
Then  he  said  to  me,  "Go!"  and  turned  his  face 
towards  the  wall.  And  I  flew  down  the  stairs ;  for  I 
longed  to  embrace  my  mother. 


THE   STREET. 

Saturday,  25th. 

I  was  watching  you  from  the  window  this  afternoon, 
when  you  were  on  your  way  home  from  the  master's ;  you 
came  in  collision  with  a  woman.  Take  more  heed  to  your 
manner  of  walking  in  the  street.  There  are  duties  to  be 
fulfilled  even  there.  If  you  keep  your  steps  and  gestures 


152  THE  STREET. 

within  bounds  in  a  private  house,  why  should  you  not  do  the 
same  in  the  street,  which  is  everybody's  house.  Remember 
this,  Enrico.  Every  time  that  you  meet  a  feeble  old  man, 
a  poor  person,  a  woman  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  a  cripple 
with  his  crutches,  a  man  bending  beneath  a  burden,  a  family 
dressed  in  mourning,  make  way  for  them  respectfully.  "We 
must  respect  age,  misery,  maternal  love,  infirmity,  labor, 
death.  Whenever  you  see  a  person  on  the  point  of  being 
run  down  by  a  vehicle,  drag  him  away,  if  it  is  a  child ; 
warn  him,  if  he  is  a  man ;  always  ask  what  ails  the  child 
who  is  crying  all  alone ;  pick  up  the  aged  man's  cane,  when 
he  lets  it  fall.  If  two  boys  are  fighting,  separate  them ;  if  it 
is  two  men,  go  away :  do  not  look  on  a  scene  of  brutal  vio- 
lence, which  offends  and  hardens  the  heart.  And  when  a 
man  passes,  bound,  and  walking  between  a  couple  of  police- 
men, do  not  add  your  curiosity  to  the  cruel  curiosity  of  the 
crowd  ;  he  may  be  innocent.  Cease  to  talk  with  your  com- 
panion, and  to  smile,  when  you  meet  a  hospital  litter,  which 
is,  perhaps,  bearing  a  dying  person,  or  a  funeral  procession ; 
for  one  may  iss;  3  from  your  own  home  on  the  morrow.  Look 
with  reverence  ipon  all  boys  from  the  asylums,  who  walk 
two  and  two,  —  the  blind,  the  dumb,  those  afflicted  with  the 
rickets,  orphans,  abandoned  children  ;  reflect  that  it  is  mis- 
fortune and  human  charity  which  is  passing  by.  Always  pre- 
tend not  to  notice  any  one  who  has  a  repulsive  or  laughter- 
provoking  deformity.  Always  extinguish  every  match  that 
you  find  in  your  path ;  for  it  may  cost  some  one  his  life. 
Always  answer  a  passer-by  who  asks  you  the  way,  with 
politeness.  Do  not  look  at  any  one  and  laugh ;  do  not  run 
without  necessity ;  do  not  shout.  Respect  the  street.  The 
education  of  a  people  is  judged  first  of  all  by  their  behavior 
on  the  street.  Where  you  find  offences  in  the  streets,  there 
you  will  find  offences  in  the  houses.  And  study  the  streets ; 
study  the  city  in  which  you  live.  If  you  were  to  be  hurled 
far  away  from  it  to-morrow,  you  would  be  glad  to  have  it 
clearly  present  in  your  memory,  to  be  able  to  traverse  it  all 
again  in  memory.  Your  own  city,  and  your  little  country  — 
that  which  has  been  for  so  many  years  your  world ;  where 


THE  STREET.  153 

you  took  your  first  steps  at  your  mother's  side ;  where  you 
experienced  your  first  emotions,  opened  your  mind  to  its  first 
ideas ;  found  your  first  friends.  It  has  been  a  mother  to 
you :  it  has  taught  you,  loved  you,  protected  you.  Study  it 
in  its  streets  and  in  its  people,  and  love  it ;  and  when  you 
hear  it  insulted,  defend  it. 

THY  FATHER. 


154  THE  EVENING  SOSOOLS. 


MAKCH. 


THfi   EVENING   SCHOOLS. 

Thursday,  2d. 

LAST  night  my  father  took  me  to  see  the  evening 
schools  in  our  Baretti  schoolhouse,  which  were  all 
lighted  up  already,  and  where  the  workingmen  were 
already  beginning  to  enter.  On  our  arrival  we  found 
the  head-master  and  the  other  masters  in  a  great  rage, 
because  a  little  while  before  the  glass  in  one  window 
had  been  broken  by  a  stone.  The  beadle  had  darted 
forth  and  seized  a  boy  b}*  the  hair,  who  was  passing ; 
but  thereupon,  Stardi.  who  lives  in  the  house  opposite, 
had  presented  himself,  and  said  :  — 

u  This  is  not  the  right  one  ;  I  saw  it  with  my  own 
eyes  ;  it  was  Franti  who  threw  it ;  and  he  said  to  me, 
'  Woe  to  you  if  you  tell  of  me  ! '  but  I  am  not  afraid." 

Then  the  head-master  declared  that  Franti  should  be 
expelled  for  good.  In  the  meantime  I  was  watching 
the  workingmen  enter  by  twos  and  threes  ;  and  more 
than  two  hundred  had  already  entered.  I  have  never 
seen  anything  so  fine  as  the  evening  school.  There 
were  boys  of  twelve  and  upwards ;  bearded  men  who 
were  on  their  way  from  their  work,  carrying  their 
books  and  copy-books ;  there  were  carpenters,  en- 
gineers with  black  faces,  masons  with  hands  white  with 
plaster,  bakers'  boys  with  their  hair  full  of  flour ;  and 


THE  EVENING  SCHOOLS.  155 

there  was  perceptible  the  odor  of  varnish,  hides,  fish,  oil, 
• — odors  of  all  the  various  trades.  There  also  entered 
a  squad  of  artillery  workmen,  dressed  like  soldiers  and 
headed  by  a  corporal.  They  all  filed  briskly  to  their 
benches,  removed  the  board  underneath,  on  which  we 
put  our  feet,  and  immediately  bent  their  heads  over 
their  work. 

Some  stepped  up  to  the  teachers  to  ask  explanations, 
with  their  open  copy-books  in  their  hands.  I  caught 
sight  of  that  young  and  well-dressed  master,  "the 
little  lawyer,"  who  had  three  or  four  workingmen  clus- 
tered round  his  table,  and  was  making  corrections  with 
his  pen  ;  and  also  the  lame  one,  who  was  laughing  with 
a  dyer  who  had  brought  him  a  copy-book  all  adorned 
with  red  and  blue  dyes.  My  master,  who  had  recov- 
ered, and  who  will  return  to  school  to-morrow,  was 
there  also.  The  doors  of  the  schoolroom  were  open. 
I  was  amazed,  when  the  lessons  began,  to  see  how  at- 
tentive they  all  were,  and  how  they  kept  their  eyes 
fixed  on  their  work.  Yet  the  greater  part  of  them,  so 
the  head-master  said,  for  fear  of  being  late,  had  not 
even  been  home  to  eat  a  mouthful  of  supper,  and  they 
were  hungry. 

But  the  3'ounger  ones,  after  half  an  hour  of  school, 
were  falling  off  the  benches  with  sleep  ;  one  even  went 
fast  asleep  with  his  head  on  the  bench,  and  the  master 
waked  him  up  by  poking  his  ear  with  a  pen.  But  the 
grown-up  men  did  nothing  of  the  sort ;  they  kept  awake, 
and  listened,  with  their  mouths  wide  open,  to  the  lesson, 
without  even  winking  ;  and  it  made  a  deep  impression 
on  me  to  see  all  those  bearded  men  on  our  benches. 
We  also  ascended  to  the  story  floor  above,  and  I  ran 
to  the  door  of  my  schoolroom  and  saw  in  my  seat  a 
man  with  a  big  mustache  and  a  bandaged  band,  who 


156  THE  FIGHT. 

might  have  injured  himself  while  at  work  about  some 
machine ;  but  he  was  trying  to  write,  though  ver}-, 
very  slowly. 

But  what  pleased  me  most  was  to  behold  in  the  seat 
of  the  little  mason,  on  the  very  same  bench  and  in  the 
very  same  corner,  his  father,  the  mason,  as  huge  as  a 
giant,  who  sat  there  all  coiled  up  into  a  narrow  space, 
with  his  chin  on  his  fists  and  his  e}'es  on  his  book,  so 
absorbed  that  he  hardly  breathed.  And  there  was  no 
chance  about  it,  for  it  was  he  himself  who  suid  to  the 
head-master  the  first  evening  he  came  to  the  school :  — 

"  Signer  Director,  do  me  the  favor  to  place  me  in 
the  seat  of  '  my  hare's  face.'  "  For  he  alwa}'s  calls  his 
son  so. 

My  father  kept  me  there  until  the  end,  and  in  the 
street  we  saw  many  women  with  children  in  their  arms, 
waiting  for  their  husbands ;  and  at  the  entrance  a 
change  was  effected  :  the  husbands  took  the  children  in 
their  arms,  alid  the  women  made  them  surrender  their 
books  and  copy-books  ;  and  in  this  wise  they  proceeded 
to  their  homes.  For  several  minutes  the  street  was 
filled  with  people  and  with  noise.  Then  all  grew 
silent,  and  all  we  could  see  was  the  tall  and  weary 
form  of  the  head-master  disappearing  in  the  distance. 


THE   FIGHT. 

Sunday,  5th. 

It  was  what  might  have  been  expected.  Franti,  on 
being  expelled  by  the  head-master,  wanted  to  revenge 
himself  on  Stardi,  and  he  waited  for  Stardi  at  a 
corner,  when  he  came  out  of  school,  and  when  the 
latter  was  passing  with  his  sister,  whom  he  escorts 
every  day  from  an  institution  in  the  Via  Dora  Grossa. 


THE  FIGHT.  157 

My  sister  Silvia,  on  emerging  from  her  schoolhouse, 
witnessed  the  whole  affair,  and  came  home  thoroughly 
terrified.  This  is  what  took  place.  Frauti,  with  his 
cap  of  waxed  cloth  canted  over  one  ear,  ran  up  on 
tiptoe  behind  Stardi,  and  in  order  to  provoke  him, 
gave  a  tug  at  his  sister's  braid  of  hair,  —  a  tug  so 
violent  that  it  almost  threw  the  girl  flat  on  her 
back  on  the  ground.  The  little  girl  uttered  a  cry ; 
her  brother  whirled  round  ;  Franti,  who  is  much  taller 
and  stronger  than  Stardi,  thought :  — 

"  He'll  not  utter  a  word,  or  I'll  break  his  skin  for 
him ! " 

But  Stardi  never  paused  to  reflect,  and  small  and 
ill-made  as  he  is,  he  flung  himself  with  one  bound 
on  that  big  fellow,  and  began  to  belabor  him  with  his 
fists.  He  could  not  hold  his  own,  however,  and  he 
got  more  than  he  gave.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
street  but  girls,  so  there  was  no  one  who  could  sep- 
arate them.  Franti  flung  him  on  the  ground  ;  but  the 
other  instantly  got  up,  and  then  down  he  went  on  his 
back  again,  and  Franti  pounded  away  as  though  upon 
a  door :  in  an  instant  he  had  torn  away*alf  an  ear, 
and  bruised  one  eye,  and  drawn  blood  from  the  other's 
nose.  But  Stardi  was  tenacious  ;  he  roared  :  — 

"You  may  kill  me,  but  I'll  make  you  pay  for  it!" 
And  down  went  Franti,  kicking  and  cuffing,  and  Stardi 
under  him,  butting  and  lungeing  out  with  his  heels. 
A  woman  shrieked  from  a  window,  "Good  for  the 
little  one!"  Others  said,  "It  is  a  boy  defending  his 
sister ;  courage !  give  it  to  him  well ! "  And  they 
screamed  at  Franti,  "  You  overbearing  brute !  you 
coward  !  "  But  Franti  had  grown  ferocious  ;  he  held 
out  his  leg ;  Stardi  tripped  and  fell,  and  Franti  on  top 
of  him. 


158  THE  BOYS'  PARENTS. 

"  Surrender  ! "  —  "  No  ! "— "  Surrender  ! "  —  "  No  ! " 
and  in  a  flash  Stardi  recovered  his  feet,  clasped  Franti 
by  the  body,  and,  with  one  furious  effort,  hurled  him 
on  the  pavement,  and  fell  upon  him  with  one  knee  on 
his  breast. 

"Ah,  the  infamous  fellow  !  he  has  a  knife  ! "  shouted 
a  man,  rushing  up  to  disarm  Franti. 

But  Stardi,  beside  himself  with  rage,  had  already 
grasped  Franti's  arm  with  both  hands,  and  bestowed 
on  the  fist  such  a  bite  that  the  knife  fell  from  it,  and 
the  hand  began  to  bleed.  More  people  had  run  up  in 
the  meantime,  who  separated  them  and  set  them  on 
their  feet.  Franti  took  to  his  heels  in  a  sorry  plight, 
and  Stardi  stood  still,  with  his  face  all  scratched,  and 
a  black  eye,  —  but  triumphant,  —  beside  his  weeping 
sister,  while  some  of  the  girls  collected  the  books  and 
copy-books  which  were  strewn  over  the  street. 

"Bravo,  little  fellow!"  said  the  bystanders;  "he 
defended  his.  sister  !  " 

But  Stardi,  who  was  thinking  more  of  his  satchel 
than  of  his  victory,  instantly  set  to  examining  the 
books  and  copy-books,  one  by  one,  to  see  whether 
anything  was  missing  or  injured.  He  rubbed  them  off 
with  his  sleeve,  scrutinized  his  pen,  put  everything 
back  in  its  place,  and  then,  tranquil  and  serious  as 
usual,  he  said  to  his  sister,  "  Let  us  go  home  quickly, 
for  I  have  a  problem  to  solve." 


THE   BOYS'  PARENTS. 

Monday,  6th. 

This  morning  big  Stardi,  the  father,  came  to  wait 
for  his  son,  fearing  lest  he  should  again  encounter 
Franti.  But  they  say  that  Franti  will  not  be  -seen 
again,  because  he  will  be  put  in  the  penitentiary. 


THE  BOYS'  PARENTS.  159 

There  were  a  great  many  parents  there  this  morning. 
Among  the  rest  there  was  the  retail  wood-dealer,  the 
father  of  Coretti,  the  perfect  image  of  his  son,  slender, 
brisk,  with  his  mustache  brought  to  a  point,  and  a 
ribbon  of  two  colors  in  the  button-hole  of  his  jacket.  I 
know  nearly  all  the  parents  of  the  boys,  through  con- 
stantly  seeing  them  there.  There  is  one  crooked  grand- 
mother, with  her  white  cap,  who  comes  four  times  a  day, 
whether  it  rains  or  snows  or  storms,  to  accompany 
and  to  get  her  little  grandson,  of  the  upper  primary  ; 
and  she  takes  off  his  little  cloak  and  puts  it  on  for  him, 
adjusts  his  necktie,  brushes  off  the  dust,  polishes  him 
up,  and  takes  care  of  the  copy-books.  It  is  evident 
that  she  has  no  other  thought,  that  she  sees  nothing 
in  the  world  more  beautiful.  The  captain  of  artillery 
also  comes  frequently,  the  father  of  Robetti,  the  lad 
with  the  crutches,  who  saved  a  child  from  the  omnibus, 
and  as  all  his  son's  companions  bestow  a  caress  on 
him  in  passing,  he  returns  a  caress  or  a  salute  to  ever}" 
one,  and  he  never  forgets  any  one  ;  he  bends  over  all, 
and  the  poorer  and  more  badly  dressed  they  are,  the 
more  pleased  he  seems  to  be,  and  he  thanks  them. 

At  times,  however,  sad  sights  are  to  be  seen.  A 
gentleman  who  had  not  come  for  a  month  because 
one  of  his  sons  had  died,  and  who  had  sent  a  maid- 
servant for  the  other,  on  returning  yesterday  and 
beholding  the  class,  the  comrades  of  his  little  dead 
boy,  retired  into  a  corner  and  burst  into  sobs,  with 
both  hands  before  his  face,  and  the  head-master  took 
him  b}'  the  arm  and  led  him  to  his  office. 

There  are  fathers  and  mothers  who  know  all  their 
sons'  companions  by  name.  There  are  girls  from  the 
neighboring  schoolhouse,  and  scholars  in  the  gymna- 
sium, who  come  to  wait  for  their  brothers.  There  is 


160  NUMBER  78. 

one  old  gentleman  who  was  a  colonel  formerly,  and 
who,  when  a  boy  drops  a  copy-book  or  a  pen,  picks  it 
up  for  him.  There  are  also  to  be  seen  well-dressed 
men,  who  discuss  school  matters  with  others,  who  have 
kerchiefs  on  their  heads,  and  baskets  on  their  arm,  and 
who  say :  — 

"Oh!  the  problem  has  been  a  difficult  one  this 
time."  —  "  That  grammar  lesson  will  never  come  to  an 
end  this  morning  !  " 

And  when  there  is  a  sick  boy  in  the  class,  they  all 
know  it ;  when  a  sick  boy  is  convalescent,  they  all 
rejoice.  And  this  morning  there  were  eight  or  ten 
gentlemen  and  workingmen  standing  around  Crossi's 
mother,  the  vegetable-vender,  making  inquiries  about 
a  poor  baby  in  my  brother's  class,  who  lives  in  her 
court,  and  who  is  in  danger  of  his  lifp.  The  school 
seems  to  make  them  all  equals  and  friends. 


NUMBER  78. 

Wednesday,  8th. 

I  witnessed  a  touching  scene  yesterday  afternoon. 
For  several  da3~s,  every  time  that  the  vegetable-vender 
has  passed  Derossi  she  has  gazed  and  gazed  at  him 
with  an  expression  of  great  affection  ;  for  Derossi, 
since  he  made  the  discovery  about  that  inkstand  and 
prisoner  Number  78,  has  acquired  a  love  for  her  son, 
Crossi,  the  red-haired  boy  with  the  useless  arm  ;  and  he 
helps  him  to  do  his  work  in  school,  suggests  answers  to 
him,  gives  him  paper,  pens,  and  pencils ;  in  short,  he 
behaves  to  him  like  a  brother,  as  though  to  compen- 
sate him  for  his  father's  misfortune,  which  has  affected 
him,  although  he  does  not  know  it. 

The   vegetable-vender  had  been  gazing  at  Derossi 


NUMBER  78.  161 

for  several  days,  and  she  seemed  loath  to  take  her 
eyes  from  him,  for  she  is  a  good  woman  who  lives  only 
for  her  son ;  and  Derossi,  who  assists  him  and  makes 
him  appear  well,  Derossi,  who  is  a  gentleman  and  the 
head  of  the  school,  seems  to  her  a  king,  a  saint.  She 
continued  to  stare  at  him,  and  seemed  desirous  of  sa}T- 
ing  something  to  him,  3-et  ashamed  to  do  it.  But  at 
last,  yesterday  morning,  she  took  courage,  stopped 
him  in  front  of  a  gate,  and  said  to  him  :  — 

"I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  little  master!  Will 
you,  who  are  so  kind  to  my  sou,  and  so  fond  of  him, 
do  me  the  favor  to  accept  this  little  memento  from  a 
poor  mother?"  and  she  pulled  out  of  her  vegetable- 
basket  a  little  pasteboard  box  of  white  and  gold. 

Derossi  flushed  up  all  over,  and  refused,  saying  with 
decision  :  — 

"  Give  it  to  your  sou  ;  I  will  accept  nothing." 

The  woman  was  mortified,  and  stammered  an  ex- 
cuse :  — 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  offending  you.  It  is  only  cara- 
mels." 

But  Derossi  said  "no,"  again,  and  shook  his  head. 
Then  she  timidly  lifted  from  her  basket  a  bunch  of 
radishes,  and  said  :  — 

"Accept  these  at  least, — they  are  fresh,  —  and 
carry  them  to  your  mamma." 

Derossi  smiled,  and  said  :  — 

"  No,  thanks  :  I  don't  want  anything  ;  I  shall  always 
do  all  that  I  can  for  Crossi,  but  I  cannot  accept  any- 
thing. I  thank  you  all  the  same." 

"  But  you  are  not  at  all  offended?  "  asked  the  woman, 
anxiously. 

Derossi  said  "No,  no  !"  smiled,  and  went  off,  while 
she  exclaimed,  in  great  delight :  — 


162  NUMBER  78. 

"Oh,  what  a  good  boy  !  I  have  never  seen  so  fine 
and  handsome  a  boy  as  he  !  " 

And  that  appeared  to  be  the  end  of  it.  But  in  the 
afternoon,  at  four  o'clock,  instead  of  Crossi's  mother, 
his  father  approached,  with  that  gaunt  and  melancholy 
face  of  his.  He  stopped  Derossi,  and  from  the  way  in 
which  he  looked  at  the  latter  I  instantly  understood 
that  he  suspected  Derossi  of  knowing  his  secret.  He 
looked  at  him  intently,  and  said  in  his  sorrowful,  affec- 
tionate voice :  — 

"You  are  fond  of  my  son.  Why  do  you  like  him 
so  much  ?  " 

Derossi's  face  turned  the  color  of  fire.  He  would 
have  liked  to  say:  "I  am  fond  of  him  because  he 
has  been  unfortunate  ;  because  you,  his  father,  have 
been  more  unfortunate  than  guilty,  and  have  nobly  ex- 
piated your  crime,  and  are  a  man  of  heart."  But  he 
had  not  the  courage  to  say  it,  for  at  bottom  he  still 
felt  fear  and  almost  loathing  in  the  presence  of  this 
man  who  had  shed  another's  blood,  and  had  been  six 
years  in  prison.  But  the  latter  divined  it  all,  and  low- 
ering his  voice,  he  said  in  Derossi's  ear,  almost  trem- 
bling the  while :  — 

"You  love  the  son;  but  you  do  not  hate,  do  not 
wholly  despise  the  father,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,  no,  no!  Quite  the  reverse  !"  exclaimed  De- 
rossi, with  a  soulful  impulse.  And  then  the  man  made 
an  impetuous  movement,  as  though  to  throw  one  arm 
round  his  neck ;  but  he  dared  not,  and  instead  he  took 
one  of  the  lad's  golden  curls  between  two  of  his  fingers, 
smoothed  it  out,  and  released  it ;  then  he  placed  his 
hand  on  his  mouth  and  kissed  his  palm,  gazing  at  De- 
rossi with  moist  eyes,  as  though  to  say  that  this  kiss 
was  for  him.  Then  he  took  his  son  by  the  hnnd,  and 
went  away  at  a  rapid  pneo. 


A  LITTLE  DEAD  BOY.  163 


A  LITTLE  DEAD  BOY. 

Monday,  13th. 

The  little  boy  who  lived  in  the  vegetable-vender's 
court,  the  one  who  belonged  to  the  upper  primary,  and 
was  the  companion  of  my  brother,  is  dead.  Schoolmis- 
tress Delcati  came  in  great  affliction,  on  Saturday  after- 
noon, to  inform  the  master  of  it ;  and  instantly  Garroue 
and  Coretti  volunteered  to  carry  the  coffin.  He  was  a 
fine  little  lad.  He  had  won  the  medal  last  week.  He 
was  fond  of  my  brother,  and  he  had  presented  him  with 
a  broken  money-box.  My  mother  always  caressed  him 
when  she  met  him.  He  wore  a  cap  with  two  stripes 
of  red  cloth.  His  father  is  a  porter  on  the  rail- 
way. Yesterday  (Sunday)  afternoon,  at  half-past  four 
o'clock,  we  went  to  his  house,  to  accompany  him  to 
the  church. 

They  live  on  the  ground  floor.  Many  boys  of  the 
upper  primary,  with  their  mothers,  all  holding  candles, 
and  five  or  six  teachers  and  several  neighbors  were 
already  collected  in  the  courtyard.  The  mistress  with 
the  red  feather  and  Signora  Delcati  had  gone  inside, 
and  through  an  open  window  we  beheld  them  weeping. 
We  could  hear  the  mother  of  the  child  sobbing  loudly. 
Two  ladies,  mothers  of  two  school  companions  of  the 
dead  child,  had  brought  two  garlands  of  flowers. 

Exactly  at  five  o'clock  we  set  out.  In  front  went  a 
boy  carrying  a  cross,  then  a  priest,  then  the  coffin,  — 
a  very,  very  small  coffin,  poor  child  !  —  covered  with  a 
black  cloth,  and  round  it  were  wound  the  garlands  of 
flowers  brought  b}*  the  two  ladies.  On  the  black  cloth, 
on  one  side,  were  fastened  the  medal  and  honorable 
mentions  which  the  little  boy  had  won  in  the  course  of 


164     THE  EVE  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  OF  MARCH. 

the  year.  Garrone,  Coretti,  and  two  boys  from  the 
courtyard  bore  the  coffin.  Behind  the  coffin,  first  came 
Signora  Delcati,  who  wept  as  though  the  little  dead  boy 
were  her  own  ;  behind  her  the  other  schoolmistresses  ; 
and  behind  the  mistresses,  the  boys,  among  whom  were 
some  very  little  ones,  who  carried  bunches  of  violets  in 
one  hand,  and  who  stared  in  amazement  at  the  bier, 
while  their  other  hand  was  held  by  their  mothers,  who 
carried  candles.  I  heard  one  of  them  say,  "  And  shall 
I  not  see  him  at  school  again?  " 

When  the  coffin  emerged  from  the  court,  a  despairing 
cry  was  heard  from  the  window.  It  was  the  child's 
mother ;  but  they  made  her  draw  back  into  the  room 
immediately.  On  arriving  in  the  street,  we  met  the 
boys  from  a  college,  who  were  passing  in  double  file, 
and  on  catching  sight  of  the  coffin  with  the  medal  and 
the  schoolmistresses,  they  all  pulled  off  their  hats. 

Poor  little  boy  !  he  went  to  sleep  forever  with  his 
medal.  We  shall  never  see  his  red  cap  again.  He 
was  in  perfect  health  ;  in  four  days  he  was  dead.  On 
the  last  day  he  made  an 'effort  to  rise  and  do  his  little 
task  in  nomenclature,  and  he  insisted  on  keeping  his 
medal  on  his  bed  for  fear  it  would  be  taken  from  him. 
No  one  will  ever  take  it  from  you  again,  poor  boy  ! 
Farewell,  farewell !  We  shall  always  remember  thee 
at  the  Baretti  School !  Sleep  in  peace,  dear  little  boy  ! 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  OF  MARCH. 

To-day  has  been  more  cheerful  than  yesterday.  The 
thirteenth  of  March !  The  eve  of  the  distribution  of 
prizes  at  the  Theatre  Vittorio  Emanuele,  the  greatest 
and  most  beautiful  festival  of  the  whole  year !  But 


1  HURRAH    FOR  THE   DEPUTY  OF  CALABRIA  !  "  —  Page  166. 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  OF  MARCH.     165 

this  time  the  boys  who  are  to  go  upon  the  stage  and 
present  the  certificates  of  the  prizes  to  the  gentlemen 
who  are  to  bestow  them  are  not  to  be  taken  at  hap- 
hazard. The  head-master  came  in  this  morning,  at 
the  close  of  school,  and  said  :  — 

"  Good  news,  boys  !  "  Then  he  called,  "  Coraci !  " 
the  Calabrian.  The  Calabrian  rose.  "  Would  you 
like  to  be  one  of  those  to  carry  the  certificates  of  the 
prizes  to  the  authorities  in  the  theatre  to-morrow?" 
The  Calabrian  answered  that  he  should. 

"That  is  well,"  said  the  head-master;  "then  there 
will  also  be  a  representative  of  Calabria  there  ;  and  that 
will  be  a  fine  thing.  The  municipal  authorities  are 
desirous  that  this  year  the  ten  or  twelve  lads  who  hand 
the  prizes  should  be  from  all  parts  of  Italy,  and  se- 
lected from  all  the  public  school  buildings.  We  have 
twenty  buildings,  with  five  annexes  —  seven  thousand 
pupils.  Among  such  a  multitude  there  has  been  no 
difficulty  in  finding  one  boy  for  each  region  of  Italy. 
Two  representatives  of  the  Islands  were  found  in  the 
Torquato  Tasso  schoolhouse,  a  Sardinian,  and  a  Sicil- 
ian ;  the  Boncompagni  School  furnished  a  little  Floren- 
tine, the  son  of  a  wood-carver ;  there  is  a  Roman,  a 
native  of  Rome,  in  the  Tommaseo  building ;  several 
Venetians,  Lombards,  and  natives  of  Romagna  have 
been  found ;  the  Monviso  School  gives  us  a  Neapolitan, 
the  son  of  an  officer ;  we  furnish  a  Genoese  and  a 
Calabrian,  —  }"ou,  Coraci,  —  with  the  Piemontese  : 
that  will  make  twelve.  Does  not  this  strike  you  as 
nice?  It  will  be  your  brothers  from  all  quarters  of 
Italy  who  will  give  you  your  prizes.  Look  out !  the 
whole  twelve  will  appear  on  the  stage  together.  Re- 
ceive them  with  hearty  applause.  The}'  are  only  boys, 
but  they  represent  the  country  just  as  though  they  were 


106  THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES. 

men.  A  small  tricolored  flag  is  the  symbol  of  Italy 
as  much  as  a  huge  banner,  is  it  not? 

"Applaud  them  warmly,  then.  Let  it  be  seen  that 
your  little  hearts  are  all  aglow,  that  your  souls  of  ten 
years  grow  enthusiastic  in  the  presence  of  the  sacred 
image  of  your  fatherland." 

Having  spoken  thus,  he  went  away,  and  the  master 
said,  with  a  smile,  "  So,  Coraci,  you  are  to  be  the 
deputy  from  Calabria." 

And  then  all  clapped  their  hands  and  laughed  ;  and 
when  we  got  into  the  street,  we  surrounded  Coraci, 
seized  him  by  the  legs,  lifted  him  on  high,  and  set  out 
to  carry  him  in  triumph,  shouting,  "Hurrah  for  the 
Deputy  of  Calabria !  "  by  way  of  making  a  noise,  of 
course  ;  and  not  in  jest,  but  quite  the  contrary,  for  the 
sake  of  making  a  celebration  for  him,  and  with  a  good 
will,  for  he  is  a  boy  who  pleases  every  one  ;  and  he 
smiled.  And  thus  we  bore  him  as  far  as  the  corner, 
where  we  ran  into  a  gentleman  with  a  black  beard,  who 
began  to  laugh.  The  Calabriau  said,  "  That  is  my 
father."  And  then  the  boys  placed  his  son  in  his  arms 
and  ran  away  in  all  directions. 


THE   DISTRIBUTION   OF   PRIZES. 

March  14th. 

Towards  two  o'clock  the  vast  theatre  was  crowded,  — 
pit,  gallery,  boxes,  stage,  all  were  thronged  ;  thousands 
of  faces, — boys,  gentlemen,  teachers,  workingmen, 
women  of  the  people,  babies.  There  was  a  moving 
of  heads  and  hands,  a  flutter  of  feathers,  ribbons,  and 
curls,  and  loud  and  merry  murmur  which  inspired 
cheerfulness.  The  theatre  was  all  decorated  with  fes- 


THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES.  1C" 

toons  of  white,  red,  and  green  cloth.  In  the  pit  two 
little  stairways  had  been  erected  :  one  on  the  right, 
which  the  winners  of  prizes  were  to  ascend  in  order  to 
reach  the  stage  ;  the  other,  on  the  left,  which  they  were 
to  descend  after  receiving  their  prizes.  On  the  front 
of  the  platform  there  was  a  row  of  red  chairs;  and 
from  the  back  of  the  one  in  the  centre  hung  two  laurel 
crowns.  At  the  back  of  the  stage  was  a  troph}-  of 
flags  ;  on  one  side  stood  a  small  green  table,  and  upon 
it  lay  all  the  certificates  of  premiums,  tied  with  tri- 
colored  ribbons.  The  band  of  music  was  stationed  in 
the  pit,  under  the  stage  ;  the  schoolmasters  and  mis- 
tresses filled  all  one  side  of  the  first  balcony,  which  had 
been  reserved  for  them  ;  the  benches  and  passages  of 
the  pit  were  crammed  with  hundreds  of  boys,  who  were 
to  sing,  and  who  had  written  music  in  their  hands. 
At  the  back  and  all  about,  masters  and  mistresses  could 
be  seen  going  to  and  fro,  arranging  the  prize  scholars 
in  lines  ;  and  it  was  full  of  parents  who  were  giving  a 
last  touch  to  their  hair  and  the  last  pull  to  their  neck"- 
ties. 

No  sooner  had  I  entered  my  box  with  my  family 
than  I  perceived  in  the  opposite  box  the  young  mis- 
tress with  the  red  feather",  who  was  smiling  and  show- 
ing all  the  pretty  dimples  in  her  cheeks,  and  with  her 
my  brother's  teacher  and  "  the  little  nun,"  dressed 
wholly  in  black,  and  my  kind  mistress  of  the  upper 
first ;  but  she  was  so  pale,  poor  thing  !  and  coughed  so 
hard,  that  she  could  be  heard  all  over  the  theatre.  In 
the  pit  I  instantly  espied  Garrone's  dear,  big  face  and 
the  little  blond  head  of  Nelli,  who  was  clinging  close 
to  the  other's  shoulder.  A  little  further  on  I  saw 
Garoffi,  with  his  owl's-beak  nose,  who  was  making 
great  efforts  to  collect  the  printed  catalogues  of  the 


168  THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES. 

prize-winners  ;  and  he  already  had  a  large  bundle  of 
them  which  he  could  put  to  some  use  in  his  bartering — 
we  shall  find  out  what  it  is  to-morrow.  Near  the  door 
was  the  wood-seller  with  his  wife, — both  dressed  in  fes- 
tive attire,  —  together  with  their  boy,  who  has  a  third 
prize  in  the  second  grade.  I  was  amazed  at  no  longer 
beholding  the  catskin  cap  and  the  chocolate-colored 
tights  :  on  this  occasion  he  was  dressed  like  a  little 
gentleman.  In  one  balcony  I  caught  a  momentary 
glimpse  of  Votini,  with  a  large  lace  collar  ;  then  he  dis- 
appeared. In  a  proscenium  box,  filled  with  people,  was 
the  artillery  captain,  the  father  of  Robetti,  the  boy  witli 
the  crutches  who  saved  the  child  from  the  omnibus. 

On  the  stroke  of  two  the  baud  struck  up,  and  at  the 
same  moment  the  mayor,  the  prefect,  the  judge,  the 
provveditore,  and  many  other  gentlemen,  all  dressed  in 
black,  mounted  the  stairs  on  the  right,  and  seated 
themselves  on  the  red  chairs  at  the  front  of  the  plat- 
form. The  band  ceased  playing.  The  director  of 
singing  in  the  schools  advanced  with  a  baton  in  his 
hand.  At  a  signal  from  him  all  the  boys  in  the  pit 
rose  to  their  feet ;  at  another  sign  they  began  to  sing. 
There  were  seven  hundred  singing  a  very  beautiful 
song, — seven  hundred  boys' Voices  singing  together; 
how  beautiful !  All  listened  motionless  :  it  was  a  slow, 
sweet,  limpid  song  which  seemed  like  a  church  chant. 
When  they  ceased,  every  one  applauded  ;  then  they  all 
became  very  still.  The  distribution  of  the  prizes  was 
about  to  begin.  My  little  master  of  the  second  grade, 
with  his  red  head  and  his  quick  eyes,  who  was  to  read 
the  names  of  the  prize-winners,  had  already  advanced 
to  the  front  of  the  stage.  The  entrance  of  the  twelve 
boys  who  were  to  present  the  certificates  was  what 
they  were  waiting  for.  The  newspapers  had  already 


THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES.  169 

stated  that  there  would  be  boys  from  all  the  provinces 
of  Italy.  Every  one  knew  it,  and  was  watching  for 
them  and  gazing  curiously  towards  the  spot  where 
thev  were  to  enter,  and  the  mayor  and  the  other  gen- 
tlemen gazed  also,  and  the  whole  theatre  was  silent. 

All  at  once  the  whole  twelve  arrived  on  the  stage  at 
a  run,  and  remained  standing  there  in  line,  with  a 
smile.  The  whole  theatre,  three  thousand  persons, 
sprang  up  simultaneously,  breaking  into  applause  which 
Bounded  like  a  clap  of  thunder.  The  boys  stood  for  a 
moment  as  though  disconcerted.  "Behold  Italy!" 
said  a  voice  on  the  stage.  All  at  once  I  recognized 
Coraci,  the  Calabrian,  dressed  in  black  as  usual.  A 
gentleman  belonging  to  the  municipal  government,  who 
was  with  us  and  who  knew  them  all,  pointed  them 
out  to  my  mother.  "  That  little  blond  is  the  represen- 
tative of  Venice.  The  Roman  is  that  tall,  curly-haired 
lad,  yonder."  Two  or  three  of  them  were  dressed  like 
gentlemen  ;  the  others  were  sons  of  workingmen,  but 
all  were  neatly  clad  and  clean.  The  Florentine,  who 
was  the  smallest,  had  a  blue  scarf  round  his  body. 
They  all  passed  in  front  of  the  mayor,  who  kissed  them, 
one  after  the  other,  on  the  brow,  while  a  gentleman 
seated  next  to  him  smilingly  told  him  the  names  of 
their  cities:  "Florence,  Naples,  Bologna,  Palermo." 
And  as  each  passed  b}T,  the  whole  theatre  clapped. 
Then  they  all  ran  to  the  green  table,  to  take  the  certifi- 
cates. The  master  began  to  read  the  list,  mentioning 
the  schoolhouses,  the  classes,  the  names ;  and  the 
prize-winners  began  to  mount  the  stage  and  to  file  past. 

The  foremost  ones  had  hardly  reached  the  stage,, 
when  behind  the  scenes  there  became  audible  a  very, 
very  faint  music  of  violins,  which  did  not  cease  during 
the  whole  time  that  they  were  filing  past  —  a  soft  and 


170  THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES. 

always  even  air,  like  the  murmur  of  many  subdued 
voices,  the  voices  of  all  the  mothers,  and  all  the  mas- 
ters and  mistresses,  giving  counsel  in  concert,  and  be- 
seeching and  administering  loving  reproofs.  And 
meanwhile,  the  prize-winners  passed  one  by  one  in 
front  of  the  seated  gentlemen,  who  handed  them  their 
certificates,  and  said  a  word  or  bestowed  a  caress  on 
each. 

The  boys  in  the  pit  and  the  balconies  applauded 
loudl}'  every  time  that  there  passed  a  very  small  lad, 
or  one  who  seemed,  from  his  garments,  to  be  poor ; 
and  also  for  those  who  had  abundant  curly  hair,  or  who 
were  clad  in  red  or  white.  Some  of  those  who  filed 
past  belonged  to  the  upper  primary,  and  once  arrived 
there,  they  became  confused  and  did  not  know  where 
to  turn,  and  the  whole  theatre  laughed.  One  passed, 
three  spans  high,  with  a  big  knot  of  pink  ribbon  on  his 
back,  so  that  he  could  hardly  walk,  and  he  got  entan- 
gled in  the  carpet  an'd  tumbled  down  ;  and  the  prefect 
set  him  on  his  feet  again,  and  all  laughed  and  clapped. 
Another  rolled  headlong  down  the  stairs,  when  descend- 
ing again  to  the  pit :  cries  arose,  but  he  had  not  hurt 
himself.  Boys  of  all  sorts  passed,  —  boys  with  roguish 
faces,  with  frightened  faces,  with  faces  as  red  as  cher- 
ries ;  comical  little  fellows,  who  laughed  in  every  one's 
face  :  and  no  sooner  had  they  got  back  into  the  pit, 
than  they  were  seized  upon  by  their  fathers  and 
mothers,  who  carried  them  away. 

When  our  schoolhouse's  turn  came,  how  amused  I 
was !  Man}-  whom  I  knew  passed.  Coretti  filed  by, 
dressed  in  new  clothes  from  head  to  foot,  with  his  fine, 
merry  smile,  which  displayed  all  his  white  teeth ;  but 
who  knows  how  many  myriagrammes  of  wood  he  had 
already  carried  that  morning !  The  mayor,  on  pre- 


THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES.  171 

senting  him  with  his  certificate,  inquired  the  meaning 
of  a  red  mark  on  his  forehead,  and  as  he  did  so,  laid 
one  hand  on  his  shoulder.  I  looked  in  the  pit  for  his 
father  and  mother,  and  saw  them  laughing,  while  they 
covered  their  mouths  with  one  hand.  Then  Derossi 
passed,  all  dressed  in  bright  blue,  with  shining  buttons, 
with  all  those  golden  curls,  slender,  easy,  with  his  head 
held  high,  so  handsome,  so  sympathetic,  that  I  could 
have  blown  him  a  kiss  ;  and  all  the  gentlemen  wanted 
to  speak  to  him  and  to  shake  his  hand. 

Then  the  master  cried,  "Giulio  Robetti ! "  and  we 
saw  the  captain's  son  come  forward  on  his  crutches. 
Hundreds  of  boys  knew  the  occurrence  ;  a  rumor  ran 
round  in  an  instant ;  a  salvo  of  applause  broke  forth, 
and  of  shouts,  which  made  the  theatre  tremble  :  men 
sprang  to  their  feet,  the  ladies  began  to  wave  their 
handkerchiefs,  and  the  poor  boy  halted  in  the  middle 
of  the  stage,  amazed  and  trembling.  The  mayor  drew 
him  to  him,  gave  him  his  prize  and  a  kiss,  and  remov- 
ing the  two  laurel  crowns  which  were  hanging  from  the 
back  of  the  chair,  he  strung  them  on  the  cross-bars  of 
his  crutches.  Then  he  accompanied  him  to  the  prosce- 
nium box,  where  his  father,  the  captain,  was  seated  ; 
and  the  latter  lifted  him  bodily  and  set  him  down  inside, 
amid  an  indescribable  tumult  of  bravos  and  hurrahs. 

Meanwhile,  the  soft  and  gentle  music  of  the  violins 
continued,  and  the  boys  continued  to  file  by,  —  those 
from  the  Schoolhouse  della  Consolata,  nearly  all  the 
sons  of  petty  merchants ;  those  from  the  Vanchiglia 
School,  the  sons  of  workingmen  ;  those  from  the  Bon- 
compagni  School,  many  of  whom  were  the  sons  of  peas- 
ants ;  those  of  the  Rayneri,  which  was  the  last.  As 
soon  as  it  was  over,  the  seven  hundred  boys  in  the  pit 
another  very  beautiful  song ;  then  the  mayor 


172  STRIFE. 

spoke,  and  after  him  the  judge,   who  terminated  his 
discourse  by  saying  to  the  boj's  :  — 

"But  do  not  leave  this  place  without  sending  a 
salute  to  those  who  toil  so  hard  for  you  ;  who  have  con- 
secrated to  you  all  the  strength  of  their  intelligence 
and  of  their  hearts  ;  who  live  and  die  for  you.  There 
they  are  ;  behold  them  !  "  And  he  pointed  to  the  bal- 
cony of  teachers.  Then,  from  the  balconies,  from  the 
pit,  from  the  boxes,  the  boys  rose,  and  extended  their 
arms  towards  the  masters  and  mistresses,  with  a  shout, 
and  the  latter  responded  by  waving  their  hands,,  their 
hats,  and  handkerchiefs,  as  they  all  stood  up,  in  their 
emotion.  After  this,  the  bund  played  once  more,  and 
the  audience  sent  a  last  noisy  salute  to  the  twelve  lads 
of  all  the  provinces  of  Italy,  who  presented  themselves 
at  the  front  of  the  stage,  all  drawn  up  in  line,  with 
their  hands  interlaced,  beneath  a  shower  of  flowers. 


STRIFE. 

Monday,  26th. 

However,  it  is  not  out  of  envy,  because  he  got  the 
prize  and  I  did  not,  that  I  quarrelled  with  Coretti  this 
morning.  It  was  not  out  of  env}'.  But  I  was  in  the 
wrong.  The  teacher  had  placed  him  beside  me,  and  I 
was  writing  in  my  copy-book  for  calligraphy  ;  he  jogged 
my  elbow  and  made  me  blot  and  soil  the  monthly  story, 
Blood  of  Romagna,  which  I  was  to  copy  for  the  little 
mason,  who  is  ill.  I  got  angiy,  and  said  a  rude  word 
to  him.  He  replied,  with  a  smile,  "I  did  not  do  it 
intentionally."  I  should  have  believed  him,  because  I 
know  him  ;  but  it  displeased  me  that  he  should  smile, 
and  I  thought :  — 

"Oh!  now  that  he  has  had  a  prize,  he  has  grown 


STRIFE.  173 

saucy  !  "  and  a  little  while  afterwards,  to  revenge  my- 
self, I  gave  him  a  jog  which  made  him  spoil  his  page. 
Then,  all  crimson  with  wrath,  "You  did  that  on  pur- 
pose," he  said  to  me,  and  raised  his  hand  :  the  teacher 
saw  it ;  he  drew  it  back.  But  he  added  :  — 

' '  I  shall  wait  for  }-ou  outside  !  "  I  felt  ill  at  ease  ; 
my  wrath  had  simmered  awa}- ;  I  repented.  No ; 
Coretti  could  not  have  done  it  intentionally.  He  is 
good,  I  thought.  I  recalled  how  I  had  seen  him  in  his 
own  home  ;  how  he  had  worked  and  helped  his  sick 
mother  ;  and  then  how  heartily  he  had  been  welcomed 
in  my  house ;  and  how  he  had  pleased  my  father. 
What  would  I  not  have  given  not  to  have  said  that 
word  to  him  ;  not  to  have  insulted  him  thus  !  And  I 
thought  of  the  advice  that  my  father  had  given  to  me : 
"  Have  you  done  wrong?  "—"  Yes."  —  "  Then  beg  his 
pardon."  But  this  I  did  not  dare  to  do  ;  I  was  ashamed 
to  humiliate  myself.  I  looked  at  him  out  of  the  corner 
of  my  eye,  and  I  saw  his  coat  ripped  on  the  shoulder,  — 
perhaps  because  he  had  carried  too  much  wood,  —  and 
I  felt  that  I  loved  him  ;  and  I  said  to  myself,  "  Cour- 
age ! "  But  the  words,  "  excuse  me,"  stuck  in  my 
throat.  He  looked  at  me  askance  from  time  to  time, 
and  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  more  grieved  than  angry. 
But  at  such  times  I  looked  malevolently  at  him,  to 
show  him  that  I  was  not  afraid. 

He  repeated,  "We  shall  meet  outside!"  And  I 
said,  "We  shall  meet  outside!"  But  I  was  thinking 
of  what  my  father  had  once  said  to  me,  "If  you  are 
wronged,  defend  yourself,  but  do  not  fight." 

And  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  will  defend  rm-self,  but  I 
will  not  fight."  But  I  was  discontented,  and  I  no 
longer  listened  to  the  master.  At  last  the  moment 
of  dismissal  arrived.  When  I  was  alone  in  the  street 


174  MY  SISTER. 

I  perceived  that  he  was  following  me.  I  stopped  and 
waited  for  him,  ruler  in  hand.  He  approached ;  I 
raised  my  ruler. 

"  No,  Enrico,"  he  said,  with  his  kindly  smile, 
waving  the  ruler  aside  with  his  hand ;  "let  us  be 
friends  again,  as  before." 

I  stood  still  in  amazement,  and  then  I  felt  what 
seemed  to  be  a  hand  dealing  a  push  on  my  shoulders, 
and  I  found  myself  in  his  arms.  He  kissed  me,  and 
said :  — 

"We'll  have  no  more  altercations  between  us,  will 
we?" 

"Never  again!  never  again!"  I  replied.  And 
we  parted  content.  But  when  I  returned  home,  and 
told  my  father  all  about  it,  thinking  to  give  him 
pleasure,  his  face  clouded  over,  and  he  said :  — 

"You  should  have  been  the  first  to  offer  your  hand, 
since  you  were  in  the  wrong."  Then  he  added,  "You 
should  not  raise  your  ruler  at  a  comrade  who  is  better 
than  you  are  —  at  the  son  of  a  soldier  ! "  and  snatching 
the  ruler  from  my  hand,  he  broke  it  in  two,  and  hurled 
it  against  the  wall. 


MY  SISTER. 

Friday,  24th. 

Why,  Enrico,  after  our  father  has  already  reproved  you 
for  having  behaved  badly  to  Coretti,  were  you  so  unkind 
to  me?  You  cannot  imagine  the  pain  that  you  caused  me. 
Do  you  not  know  that  when  you  were  a  baby,  I  stood  for 
hours  and  hours  beside  your  cradle,  instead  of  playing  with 
my  companions,  and  that  when  you  were  ill,  I  got  out  of 
bed  every  night  to  feel  whether  your  forehead  was  burning? 
Do  you  not  know,  you  who  grieve  your  sister,  that  if  a 
tremendous  misfortune  should  overtake  us,  I  should  be  a 


MY  SISTER.  175 

mother  to  you  and  love  you  like  my  son  ?  Do  you  not 
kjiow  that  when  our  father  and  mother  are  no  longer  here, 
I  shall  be  your  best  friend,  the  only  person  with  whom  you 
can  talk  about  our  dead  and  your  infancy,  and  that,  should 
it  be  necessary,  I  shall  work  for  you,  Enrico,  to  earn  your 
bread  and  to  pay  for  your  studies,  and  that  I  shall  always 
love  you  when  you  are  grown  up,  that  I  shall  follow  you 
in  thought  when  you  go  far  away,  always  because  we  grew 
up  together  and  have  the  same  blood?  O  Enrico,  be  sure  of 
this  when  you  are  a  man,  that  if  misfortune  happens  to 
you,  if  you  are  alone,  be  very  sure  that  you  will  seek  me, 
that  you  will  come  to  me  and  say :  "  Silvia,  sister,  let  me 
stay  with  you ;  let  us  talk  of  the  days  when  we  were  happy 
—  do  you  remember?  Let  us  talk  of  our  mother,  of  our 
home,  of  those  beautiful  days  that  are  so  far  away."  O 
Enrico,  you  will  always  find  your  sister  with  her  arms  wide 
open.  Yes,  dear  Enrico;  and  you  must  forgive  me  for  the 
reproof  that  I  am  administering  to  you  now.  I  shall  never 
recall  any  wrong  of  yours ;  and  if  you  should  give  me  other 
sorrows,  what  matters  it?  You  will  always  be  my  brother, 
the  same  brother ;  I  shall  never  recall  you  otherwise  than  as 
having  held  you  in  my  arms  when  a  baby,  of  having  loved 
our  father  and  mother  with  you,  of  having  watched  you  grow 
up,  of  having  been  for  years  your  most  faithful  companion. 
But  do  you  write  me  a  kind  word  in  this  same  copj'-book, 
and  I  will  come  for  it  and  read  it  before  the  evening.  In 
the  meanwhile,  to  show  you  that  I  am  not  angry  with  you, 
and  perceiving  that  you  are  weary,  I  have  copied  for  you  the 
monthly  story,  Blood  of  Romagna,  which  you  were  to  have 
copied  for  the  little  sick  mason.  Look  in  the  left  drawer 
of  your  table ;  I  have  been  writing  all  night,  while  you  were 
asleep.  Write  me  a  kind  word,  Enrico,  I  beseech  you. 

THY  SISTER  SILVIA. 
I  am  not  worthy  to  kiss  your  hands.  —  ENRICO. 


176  BLOOD   OF  ROMAGNA. 

BLOOD  OF  ROMAGNA. 

(Monthly  Story.) 

That  evening  the  house  of  Ferruccio  was  more  silent 
than  was  its  wont.  The  father,  who  kept  a  little 
haberdasher's  shop,  had  gone  to  Forli  to  make  some 
purchases,  and  his  wife  had  accompanied  him,  with 
Luigina,  a  baby,  whom  she  was  taking  to  a  doctor, 
that  he  might  operate  on  a  diseased  eye  ;  and  they 
were  not  to  return  until  the  following  morning.  It 
was  almost  midnight.  The  woman  who  came  to  do 
the  work  by  day  had  gone  away  at  nightfall.  In  the 
house  there  was  only  the  grandmother  with  the  para- 
lyzed legs,  and  Ferruccio,  a  lad  of  thirteen.  It  was 
a  small  house  of  but  one  story,  situated  on  the  high- 
way, at  a  gunshot's  distance  from  a  village  not  far 
from  Forli,  a  town  of  Romagna  ;  and  there  was  near 
it  only  an  uninhabited  house,  ruined  two  months 
previously  by  fire,  on  which  the  sign  of  an  inn  was 
still  to  be  seen.  Behind  the  tiny  house  was  a  small 
garden  surrounded  by  a  hedge,  upon  which  a  rustic 
gate  opened ;  the  door  of  the  shop,  which  also  served 
as  the  house  door,  opened  on  the  highway.  AH 
around  spread  the  solitary  campagna,  vast  cultivated 
fields,  planted  with  mulberry-trees. 

It  was  nearly  midnight ;  it  was  raining  and  blowing. 
Ferruccio  and  his  grandmother,  who  was  still  up,  were 
in  the  dining-room,  between  which  and  the  garden 
there  was  a  small,  closet-like  room,  encumbered  with 
old  furniture.  Ferruccio  had  only  returned  home  at 
eleven  o'clock,  after  an  absence  of  many  hours,  and 
his  grandmother  had  watched  for  him  with  eyes  wide 


BLOOD   OF  BOMAGNA.  177 

open,  filled  with  anxiety,  nailed  to  the  large  arm-chair, 
upon  which  she  was  accustomed  to  pass  the  entire  day, 
and  often  the  whole  night  as  well,  since  a  difficulty  of 
breathing  did  not  allow  her  to  lie  down  in  bed. 

It  was  raining,  and  the  wind  beat  the  rain  against 
the  window-panes :  the  night  was  very  dark.  Fer- 
ruccio  had  returned  weary,  muddy,  with  his  jacket 
torn,  and  the  livid  mark  of  a  stone  on  his  forehead. 
He  had  engaged  in  a  stone  fight  with  his  comrades  ; 
they  had  come  to  blows,  as  usual ;  and  in  addition  he 
had  gambled,  and  lost  all  his  soldi,  and  left  his  cap  in 
a  ditch. 

Although  the  kitchen  was  illuminated  only  by  a 
small  oil  lamp,  placed  on  the  corner  of  the  table,  near 
the  arm-chair,  his  poor  grandmother  had  instantly  per- 
ceived the  wretched  condition  of  her  grandson,  and 
had  partly  divined,  partly  brought  him  to  confess,  his 
misdeeds. 

She  loved  this  boy  with  all  her  soul.  When  she  had 
learned  all,  she  began  to  cry. 

"Ah,  no!"  she  said,  after  a  long  silence,  "you 
have  no  heart  for  your  poor  grandmother.  You  have 
no  feeling,  to  take  advantage  in  this  manner  of  the 
absence  of  your  father  and  mother,  to  cause  me  sor- 
row. You  have  left  me  alone  the  whole  day  long. 
You  had  not  the  slightest  compassion.  Take  care,  Fer- 
ruccio  !  You  are  entering  on  an  evil  path  which  will 
lead  you  to  a  sad  end.  I  have  seen  others  begin  like 
you,  and  come  to  a  bad  end.  If  you  begin  by  running 
away  from  home,  by  getting  into  brawls  with  the  other 
boys,  by  losing  soldi,  then,  gradually,  from  stone  fights 
you  will  come  to  knives,  from  gambling  to  other  vices, 
and  from  other  vices  to  —  theft." 

Feruccio  stood  listening  three  paces  away,  leaning 


178  BLOOD   OF  ROMAGNA, 

against  a  cupboard,  with  his  chin  on  his  breast  and 
his  brows  knit,  being  still  hot  with  wrath  from  the 
brawl.  A  lock  of  fine  chestnut  hair  fell  across  his 
forehead,  and  his  blue  eyes  were  motionless. 

"From  gambling  to  theft!"  repeated  his  grand- 
mother, continuing  to  weep.  "Think  of  it,  Ferruccio  ! 
Think  of  that  scourge  of  the  country  about  here,  of 
that  Vito  Mozzoni,  who  is  now  playing  the  vagabond  in 
the  town  ;  who,  at  the  age  of  twenty-four,  has  been 
twice  in  prison,  and  has  made  that  poor  woman,  his 
mother,  die  of  a  broken  heart — I  knew  her;  and  his 
father  has  fled  to  Switzerland  in  despair.  Think  of 
that  bad  fellow,  whose  salute  your  father  is  ashamed 
to  return  :  he  is  always  roaming  with  miscreants  worse 
than  himself,  and  some  day  he  will  go  to  the  galleys. 
Well,  I  knew  him  as  a  boy,  and  he  began  as  you  are 
doing.  Reflect  that  you  will  reduce  your  father  and 
mother  to  the  same  end  as  his." 

Ferruccio  held  his  peace.  He  was  not  at  all  remorse- 
ful at  heart ;  quite  the  reverse  :  his  misdemeanors  arose 
rather  from  superabundance  of  life  and  audacity  than 
from  an  evil  mind  ;  and  his  father  had  managed  him 
badly  in  precisely  this  particular,  that,  holding  him 
capable,  at  bottom,  of  the  finest  sentiments,  and  also, 
when  put  to  the  proof,  of  a  vigorous  and  generous  ac- 
tion, he  left  the  bridle  loose  upon  his  neck,  and  waited 
for  him  to  acquire  judgment  for  himself.  The  lad 
was  good  rather  than  perverse,  but  stubborn  ;  and  it 
was  hard  for  him,  even  when  his  heart  was  oppressed 
with  repentance,  to  allow  those  good  words  which  win 
pardon  to  escape  his  lips,  "  If  I  have  done  wrong,  I 
will  do  so  no  more  ;  I  promise  it ;  forgive  me."  His 
soul  was  full  of  tenderness  at  times ;  but  pride  would 
not  permit  it  to  manifest  itself. 


BLOOD   OF  ROMAGNA.  179 

"  Ah,  Ferruccio,"  continued  his  grandmother,  per- 
ceiving that  he  was  thus  dumb,  "  not  a  word  of  peni- 
tence do  you  utter  to  me  !  You  see  to  what  a  condition 
I  am  reduced,  so  that  I  am  as  good  as  actually  buried. 
You  ought  not  to  have  the  heart  to  make  me  suffer  so, 
to  make  the  mother  of  your  mother,  who  is  so  old  and 
so  near  her  last  day,  weep  ;  the  poor  grandmother  who 
has  always  loved  you  so,  who  rocked  you  all  night  long, 
night  after  night,  when  you  were  a  baby  a  few  months 
old,  and  who  did  not  eat  for  amusing  you, — you  do 
not  know  that!  I  always  said,  'This  boy  will  be 
m}'  consolation  ! '  And  now  you  are  killing  me  !  I 
would  willingly  give  the  little  life  that  remains  to  me  if 
I  could  see  you  become  a  good  bo}',  and  an  obedient 
one,  as  you  were  in  those  days  when  I  used  to  lead  you 
to  the  sanctuary  —  do  you  remember,  Ferruccio?  You 
used  to  fill  my  pockets  with  pebbles  and  weeds,  and  I 
carried  you  home  in  my  arms,  fast  asleep.  You  used 
to  love  your  poor  grandma  then.  And  now  I  am  a 
paralytic,  and  in  need  of  your  affection  as  of  the  air  to 
breathe,  since  I  have  no  one  else  in  the  world,  poor, 
half-dead  woman  that  I  am  :  my  God !  ". 

Ferruccio  was  on  the  point  of  throwing  himself  on  his 
grandmother,  overcome  with  emotion,  when  he  fancied 
that  he  heard  a  slight  noise,  a  creaking  in  the  small 
adjoining  room,  the  one  which  opened  on  the  garden. 
But  he  could  not  make  out  whether  it  was  the  window- 
shuttei's  rattling  in  the  wind,  or  something  else. 

He  bent  his  head  and  listened. 

The  rain  beat  down  noisily. 

The  sound  was  repeated.  His  grandmother  heard  it 
also. 

"  "What  is  it?"  asked  the  grandmother,  in  perturba- 
tion, after  a  momentary  pause. 


180  BLOOD   OF  ROMAGNA. 

"  The  rain,"  murmured  the  boy. 

"  Then,  Ferruccio,"  said  the  old  woman,  drying 
her  eyes,  "  you  promise  me  that  you  will  be  good, 
that  you  will  not  make  your  poor  grandmother  weep 
again  —  " 

Another  faint  sound  interrupted  her. 

' '  But  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  not  the  rain  ! "  she 
exclaimed,  turning  pale.  "  Go  and  see  !  " 

But  she  instantly  added,  "  No  ;  remain  here  !  "  and 
seized  Ferruccio  by  the  hand. 

Both  remained  as  they  were,  and  held  their  breath. 
All  they  heard  was  the  sound  of  the  water. 

Then  both  were  seized  with  a  shivering  fit. 

It  seemed  to  both  that  they  heard  footsteps  in  the 
next  room. 

"Who's  there?"  demanded  the  lad,  recovering  his 
breath  with  an  effort. 

No  one  replied. 

"Who  is  it?  "asked  Ferruccio  again,  chilled  with 
terror. 

But  hardly  had  he  pronounced  these  words  when 
both  uttered  a  shriek  of  terror.  Two  men  sprang  into 
the  room.  One  of  them  grasped  the  boy  and  placed 
one  hand  over  his  mouth ;  the  other  clutched  the  old 
woman  by  the  throat.  The  first  said  :  — 

"  Silence,  unless  you  want  to  die  !  " 

The  second :  — 

"  Be  quiet !  "  and  raised  aloft  a  knife. 

Both  had  dark  cloths  over  their  faces,  with  two  holes 
for  the  eyos. 

For  a  moment  nothing  was  audible  but  the  gasping 
breath  of  all  four,  the  patter  of  the  rain  ;  the  old  woman 
emitted  frequent  rattles  from  her  throat,  and  her  eyes 
were  startins;  from  her  head. 


SEARCHING  THE  CUPBOARD.-     Page  181. 


BLOOD   OF  ROMAGNA.  181 

The  man  who  held  the  boy  said  in  his  ear,  "  Where 
does  your  father  keep  his  money  ?  " 

The  lad  replied  in  a  thread  of  a  voice,  with  chatter- 
ing teeth,  "  Yonder  —  in  the  cupboard." 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  man. 

And  he  dragged  him  into  the  closet  room,  holding 
him  securely  by  the  throat.  There  was  a  dark  lantern 
standing  on  the  floor. 

"Where  is  the  cupboard?"  he  demanded. 

The  suffocating  boy  pointed  to  the  cupboard. 

Then,  in  order  to  make  sure  of  the  boy,  the  man 
flung  him  on  his  knees  in  front  of  the  cupboard,  and, 
pressing  his  neck  closely  between  his  own  legs,  in  such 
a  way  that  he  could  throttle  him  if  he  shouted,  and 
holding  his  knife  in  his  teeth  and  his  lantern  in  one 
hand,  with  the  other  he  pulled  from  his  pocket  a 
pointed  iron,  drove  it  into  the  lock,  fumbled  about, 
broke  it,  threw  the  doors  wide  open,  tumbled  every- 
thing over  in  a  perfect  fury  of  haste,  filled  his  pockets, 
shut  the  cupboard  again,  opened  it  again,  made  another 
search  ;  then  he  seized  the  boy  by  the  windpipe  again, 
and  pushed  him  to  where  the  other  man  was  still  grasp- 
ing the  old  woman,  who  was  convulsed,  with  her  head 
thrown  back  and  her  mouth  open. 

The  latter  asked  in  a  low  voice,  "  Did  you  find  it?" 

His  companion  replied,  "  I  found  it." 

And  he  added,  "  See  to  the  door." 

The  one  that  was  holding  the  old  woman  ran  to  the 
door  of  the  garden  to  see  if  there  were  any  one  there, 
and  called  in  from  the  little  room,  in  a  voice  that  re- 
sembled a  hiss,  "  Come  !  " 

The  one  who  remained  behind,  and  who  was  still 
holding  Ferruccio  fast,  showed  his  knife  to  the  boy  and 
the  old  woman,  who  had  opened  her  eyes  again,  and 


182  BLOOD   OF  ROMAGNA. 

said,  "Not  a  sound,  or  I'll  come  back  and  cut  your 
throat." 

And  he  glared  at  the  two  for  a  moment. 

At  this  juncture,  a  song  sung  b}'  many  voices  be- 
came audible  far  off  on  the  highway. 

The  robber  turned  his  head  hastily  toward  the  door, 
and  the  violence  of  the  movement  caused  the  cloth  to 
fall  from  his  face. 

The  old  woman  gave  vent  to  a  shriek  ;  ' '  Mozzoni ! " 

"Accursed  woman,"  roared  the  robber,  on  finding 
himself  recognized,  "  you  shall  die  !  " 

And  he  hurled  himself,  with  his  knife  raised,  against 
the  old  woman,  who  swooned  on  the  spot. 

The  assassin  dealt  the  blow. 

But  Ferruccio,  with  an  exceedingly  rapid  movement, 
and  uttering  a  cry  of  desperation,  had  rushed  to  his 
grandmother,  and  covered  her  body  with  his  own. 
The  assassin  fled,  stumbling  against  the  table  and  over- 
turning the  light,  which  was  extinguished. 

The  boy  slipped  slowly  from  above  his  grandmother, 
fell  on  his  knees,  and  remained  in  that  attitude,  with 
his  arms  around  her  body  and  his  head  upon  her 
breast. 

Several  moments  passed  ;  it  was  very  dark  ;  the  song 
of  the  peasants  gradually  died  away  in  the  campagna. 
The  old  woman  recovered  her  senses. 

"  Ferruccio  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  voice  that  was  barely 
intelligible,  with  chattering  teeth. 

"Grandmamma  ! "  replied  the  lad. 

The  old  woman  made  an  effort  to  speak ;  but  terror 
had  paralyzed  her  tongue. 

She  remained  silent  for  a  while,  trembling  violently. 

Then  she  succeeded  in  asking  :  — 

"  They  are  not  here  now?" 


BLOOD   OF  ROMAGNA.  133 

"No." 

"  They  did  not  kill  me,"  murmured  the  old  woman 
in  a  stifled  voice. 

"  No  ;  you  are  safe,"  said  Ferruccio,  in  a  weak  voice. 
"You  are  safe,  dear  grandmother.  They  carried  off 
the  money.  But  daddy  had  taken  nearly  all  of  it  with 
him." 

His  grandmother  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Grandmother,"  said  Ferruccio,  still  kneeling,  and 
pressing  her  close  to  him,  "  dear  grandmother,  you  love 
me,  don't  you?" 

"O  Ferruccio!  m}-  poor  little  son!"  she  replied, 
placing  her  hands  on  his  head  ;  "  what  a  fright  you 
must  have  had  !  —  O  Lord  God  of  mercy  !  —  Light  the 
lamp.  No ;  let  us  still  remain  in  the  dark  !  I  am  still 
afraid." 

"Grandmother,"  resumed  the  boy,  "I  have  always 
caused  you  grief." 

"No,  Ferruccio,  you  must  not  say  such  things;  I 
shall  never  think  of  that  again  ;  I  have  forgotten  even-- 
thing, I  love  you  so  dearty !  " 

"  I  have  always  caused  you  grief,"  pursued  Ferruccio, 
with  difficulty,  and  his  voice  quivered;  "but  I  have 
always  loved  you.  Do  you  forgive  me?  —  Forgive  me, 
grandmother." 

"Yes,  my  son,  I  forgive  you  with  all  my  heart. 
Think,  how  could  I  help  forgiving  you !  Rise  from 
your  knees,  my  child.  I  will  never  scold  you  again. 
You  are  so  good,  so  good !  Let  us  light  the  lamp. 
Let  us  take  courage  a  little.  Rise,  Ferruccio." 

"  Thanks,  grandmother,"  said  the  bo}',  and  his  voice 
was  still  weaker.  "Now  —  I  am  content.  You  will 
remember  me,  grandmother  —  will  you  not?  You 
will  always  remember  me  —  your  Ferruccio?" 


184         THE  LITTLE  MASON  ON  HIS  SICK-BED. 

"  My  Ferruccio ! "  exclaimed  his  grandmother, 
amazed  and  alarmed,  as  she  laid  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders  and  bent  her  head,  as  though  to  look  him  in 
his  face. 

"  Remember  me,"  murmured  the  boy  once  more,  in 
a  voice  that  seemed  like  a  breath.  "  Give  a  kiss  to 
my  mother  —  to  my  father  —  to  Luigina.  —  Good  by, 
grandmother." 

"In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you?"  shrieked  the  old  woman,  feeling  the  boy's  head 
anxiously,  as  it  lay  upon  her  knees  ;  and  then  with  all 
the  power  of  voice  of  which  her  throat  was  capable, 
and  in  desperation  :  "  Ferruccio  !  Ferruccio  !  Ferruccio ! 
My  child  !  My  love !  Angels  of  Paradise,  come  to 
my  aid  !  " 

But  Ferruccio  made  no  reply.  The  little  hero,  the 
saviour  of  the  mother  of  his  mother,  stabbed  by  a  blow 
from  a  knife  in  the  back,  had  rendered  up  his  beautiful 
and  daring  soul  to  God. 


THE  LITTLE  MASON   ON  HIS  SICK-BED. 

Tuesday,  18th. 

The  poor  little  mason  is  seriously  ill ;  the  master  told 
us  to  go  and  see  him  ;  and  Garrone,  Derossi,  and  I 
agreed  to  go  together.  Stardi  would  have  come  also, 
but  as  the  teacher  had  assigned  us  the  description  of 
The  Monument  to  Cavour,  he  told  us  that  he  must  go 
and  see  the  monument,  in  order  that  his  description 
might  be  more  exact.  So,  by  way  of  experiment,  we 
invited  that  puffed-up  fellow,  Nobis,  who  replied  "  No," 
and  nothing  more.  Votini  also  excused  himself,  perhaps 
because  he  was  afraid  of  soiling  his  clothes  with  plaster 


THE  LITTLE  MASON  ON  HIS  SICK-BED.        185 

We  went  there  when  we  came  out  of  school  at  four 
o'clock.  It  was  raining  in  torrents.  On  the  street 
Garrone  halted,  and  said,  with  his  mouth  full  of 
bread  :  — 

"  What  shall  I  buy  ?  "  and  he  rattled  a  couple  of  soldi 
in  his  pocket.  We  each  contributed  two  soldi,  and 
purchased  three  huge  oranges.  We  ascended  to  the 
garret.  At  the  door  Derossi  removed  his  medal  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket.  I  asked  him  why. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered;  "in  order  not  to 
have  the  air :  it  strikes  me  as  more  delicate  to  go  in 
without  my  'medal."  We  knocked ;  the  father,  that 
big  man  who  looks  like  a  giant,  opened  to  us  ;  his  face 
was  distorted  so  that  he  appeared  terrified. 

"•Who  are  you?"  he  demanded.  Garrone  re- 
plied :  — 

"We  are  Antonio's  schoolmates,  and  we  have 
brought  him  three  oranges." 

"  Ah,  poor  Tonino  !  "  exclaimed  the  mason,  shaking 
his  head,  "  I  fear  that  he  will  never  eat  your  oranges  !" 
and  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  He 
made  us  come  in.  We  entered  an  attic  room,  where  we 
saw  "  the  little  mason"  asleep  in  a  little  iron  bed  ;  his 
mother  hung  dejectedly  over  the  bed,  with  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  she  hardly  turned  to  look  at  us ;  on  one 
side  hung  brushes,  a  trowel,  and  a  plaster-sieve  ;  over 
the  feet  of  the  sick  boy  was  spread  the  mason's  jacket, 
white  with  lime.  The  poor  boy  was  emaciated ;  very 
very  white  ;  his  nose  was  pointed,  and  his  breath  waif- 
short.  O  dear  Tonino,  my  little  comrade  !  you  who 
were  so  kind  and  merry,  how  it  pains  me  !  what  would 
I  not  give  to  see  you  make  the  hare's  face  once  more, 
poor  little  mason  !  Garrone  laid  an  orange  on  his  pil- 
low, close  to  his  face  ;  the  odor  waked  him  ;  he  grasped 


186         THE  LITTLE  MASON  ON  HIS  SICK-BED. 

it  instantly  ;  then  let  go  of  it,  and  gazed  intently  at 
Garrone. 

"It  is  I,"  said  the  latter;  "Garrone:  do  you 
know  me?  "  He  smiled  almost  imperceptibly,  lifted  his 
stubby  hand  with  difficulty  from  the  lied  and  held  it  out 
to  Garrone,  who  took  it  between  his,  and  laid  it  against 
his  cheek,  saying  :  — 

"  Courage,  courage,  little  mason ;  you  are  going 
to  get  well  soon  and  come  back  to  school,  and  the 
master  will  put  you  next  to  me ;  will  that  please 
you?" 

But  the  little  mason  made  no  reply.  •  His  mother 
burst  into  sobs:  "Oh,  my  poor  Tonino  f  My  poor 
Tonino  !  He  is  so  brave  and  good,  and  God  is  going 
to  take  him  from  us  !  " 

"  Silence  !  "  cried  the  mason  ;  "  silence,  for  the  love 
of  God,  or  I  shall  lose  my  reason  !  " 

Then  he  said  to  us,  with  anxiety:  "Go,  go,  boys, 
thanks  ;  go  !  what  do  you  want  to  do  here  ?  Thanks  ; 
go  home  ! "  The  boy  had  closed  his  eyes  again,  and 
appeared  to  be  dead. 

"  Do  you  need  any  assistance?"  asked  Garrone. 

"  No,  my  good  boy,  thanks,"  the  mason  answered. 
And  so  saying,  he  pushed  us  out  on  the  landing,  and 
shut  the  door.  But  we  were  not  half-way  down  the 
stairs,  when  we  heard  him  calling,  "Garrone!  Gar- 
rone !  " 

We  all  three  mounted  the  stairs  once  more  in  haste. 

"Garrone!"  shouted  the  mason,  with  a  changed 
countenance,  "he  has  called  you  by  name;  it  is  two 
days  since  he  spoke  ;  he  has  called  you  twice  ;  he  wants 
you ;  come  quickly !  Ah,  holy  God,  if  this  is  only  a 
good  sign  ! " 

"  Farewell  for  the  present,"  said  Garrone  to  us  ;  "I 


COUNT  CAVOUR.  187 

shall  remain,"  and  he  ran  in  with  the  father.  Derossi's 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  I  said  to  him  :  — 

' '  Are  you  crying  for  the  little  mason  ?  He  has 
spoken  ;  he  will  recover." 

"I  believe  it,"  replied  Derossi ;  "but  I  was  not 
thinking  of  him.  I  was  thinking  how  good  Garrone  is, 
and  what  a  beautiful  soul  he  has." 


COUNT  CAVOUR. 

Wednesday,  29th. 

You  are  to  make  a  description  of  the  monument  to  Count 
Cavour.  You  can  do  it.  But  who  was  Count  Cavour? 
You  cannot  understand  at  present.  For  the  present  this  is 
all  you  know  :  he  was  for  many  years  the  prime  minister  of 
Piemont.  It  was  he  who  sent  the  Piemontese  army  to  the 
Crimea  to  raise  once  more,  with  the  victory  of  the  Cernaia, 
our  military  glory,  which  had  fallen  with  the  defeat  at 
Novara ;  it  was  he  who  made  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand Frenchmen  descend  from  the  Alps  to  chase  the  Aus- 
trians  from  Lombardy ;  it  was  he  who  governed  Italy  in  the 
most  solemn  period  of  our  revolution ;  who  gave,  during 
those  years,  the  most  potent  impulse  to  the  holy  enterprise 
of  the  unification  of  our  country,  —  he  with  his  luminous 
mind,  with  his  invincible  perseverance,  with  his  more  than 
human  industry.  Many  generals  have  passed  terrible  hours 
on  the  field  of  battle ;  but  he  passed  more  terrible  ones  in  his 
cabinet,  when  his  enormous  work  might  suffer  destruction  at 
any  moment,  like  a  fragile  edifice  at  the  tremor  of  an  earth- 
quake. Hours,  nights  of  struggle  and  anguish  did  he  pass,  suffi- 
cient to  make  him  issue  from  it  with  reason  distorted  and 
death  in  his  heart.  And  it  was  this  gigantic  and  stormy 
work  which  shortened  his  life  by  twenty  years.  Nevertheless, 
devoured  by  the  fever  which  was  to  cast  him  into  his  grave, 
he  yet  contended  desperately  with  the  malady  in  order  to 


188  COUNT  CAVOUR. 

accomplish  something  for  his  country.  "  It  is  strange,"  he 
said  sadly  on  his  death-bed,  "  I  no  longer  know  how  to  read ; 
I  can  no  longer  read." 

While  they  were  bleeding  him,  and  the  fever  was  increas- 
ing, he  was  thinking  of  his  country,  and  he  said  imperiously : 
"  Cure  me ;  my  mind  is  clouding  over ;  I  have  need  of  all 
my  faculties  to  manage  important  affairs."  When  he  was 
already  reduced  to  extremities,  and  the  whole  city  was  in  a 
tumult,  and  the  king  stood  at  his  bedside,  he  said  anxiously, 
"  I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you,  Sire,  many  things  to 
show  you ;  but  I  am  ill ;  I  cannot,  I  cannot ; "  and  he  was  in 
despair. 

And  his  feverish  thoughts  hovered  ever  round  the  State, 
round  the  new  Italian  provinces  which  had  been  united  with 
us,  round  the  many  things  which  still  remained  to  be  done. 
When  delirium  seized  him,  "  Educate  the  childi'en  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, between  his  gasps  for  breath,  —  "  educate  the  chil- 
dren and  the  young  people  —  govern  with  liberty  !  " 

His  delirium  increased ;  death  hovered  over  him,  and  with 
burning  words  he  invoked  General  Garibaldi,  with  whom  he 
had  had  disagreements,  and  Venice  and  Rome,  which  were 
not  yet  free :  he  had  vast  visions  of  the  future  of  Italy  and 
of  Europe ;  he  dreamed  of  a  foreign  invasion ;  he  inquired 
where  the  corps  of  the  army  were,  and  the  generals ;  he  still 
trembled  for  us,  for  his  people.  His  great  sorrow  was  not, 
you  understand,  that  he  felt  that  his  life  was  going,  but  to 
see  himself  fleeing  his  country,  which  still  had  need  of  him, 
and  for  which  he  had,  in  a  few  years,  worn  out  the  measure- 
less forces  of  his  miraculous  organism.  He  died  with  the 
battle-cry  in  his  throat,  and  his  death  was  as  great  as  his 
life.  Now  reflect  a  little,  Enrico,  what  sort  of  a  thing  is  our 
labor,  which  nevertheless  so  weighs  us  down ;  what  are  our 
griefs,  our  death  itself,  in  the  face  of  the  toils,  the  terrible 
anxieties,  the  tremendous  agonies  of  these  men  upon  whose 
hearts  rests  a  world !  Think  of  this,  my  son,  when  you  pass 
before  that  marble  image,  and  say  to  it,  "  Glory !"  in  your 
heart. 

THY  FATHER. 


SPEIXG.  189 


APRIL. 


SPRING. 

Saturday,  1st. 

THE  first  of  April !  Only  three  months  more  !  This 
has  been  one  of  the  most  beautiful  mornings  of  the 
year.  I  was  happy  in  school  because  Coretti  told  me 
to  come  day  after  to-morrow  to  see  the  king  make  his 
entrance  with  his  father,  who  knows  him,  and  because 
my  mother  had  promised  to  take  me  the  same  day  to 
visit  the  Infant  Asylum  in  the  Corso  Valdocco.  I  was 
pleased,  too,  because  the  little  mason  is  better,  and 
because  the  teacher  said  to  my  father  yesterdaj'  even- 
ing as  he  was  passing,  "  He  is  doing  well ;  he  is  doing 
well." 

And  then  it  was  a  beautiful  spring  morning.  From 
the  school  windows  we  could  see  the  blue  sky,  the  trees 
of  the  garden  all  covered  with  buds,  and  the  wide-open 
windows  of  the  houses,  with  their  boxes  and  vases 
already  growing  green.  The  master  did  not  laugh,  be- 
cause he  never  laughs  ;  but  he  was  in  a  good  humor, 
so  that  that  perpendicular  wrinkle  hardly  ever  appeared 
on  his  brow  ;  and  he  explained  a  problem  on  the  black- 
board, and  jested.  And  it  was  plain  that  he  felt  a 
pleasure  in  breathing  the  air  of  the  gardens  which 
entered  through  the  open  window,  redolent  with  the 
fresh  odor  of  earth  and  leaves,  which  suggested 
thoughts  of  country  rambles. 


190  SPRING. 

While  he  was  explaining,  we  could  hear  in  a  neigh- 
boring street  a  blacksmith  hammering  on  his  anvil,  and 
in  the  house  opposite,  a  woman  singing  to  lull  her  baby 
to  sleep  ;  far  away,  in  the  Cernaia  barracks,  the  trum- 
pets were  sounding.  Every  one  appeared  pleased,  even 
Stardi.  At  a  certain  moment  the  blacksmith  began  to 
hammer  more  vigorously,  the  woman  to  sing  more 
loudly.  The  master  paused  and  lent  an  ear.  Then 
he  said,  slowly,  as  he  gazed  out  of  the  window :  — 

"  The  smiling  sky,  a  singing  mother,  an  honest  ma  a 
at  work,  boys  at  study,  —  these  are  beautiful  things." 

When  we  emerged  from  the  school,  we  saw  that 
every  one  else  was  cheerful  also.  All  walked  in  a  line, 
stamping  loudly  with  their  feet,  and  humming,  as 
though  on  the  eve  of  a  four  days'  vacation ;  the 
schoolmistresses  were  playful ;  the  one  with  the  red 
feather  tripped  along  behind  the  children  like  a  school- 
girl ;  the  parents  of  the  boys  were  chatting  together 
and  smiling,  and  Crossi's  mother,  the  vegetable-vender, 
had  so  many  bunches  of  violets  in  her  basket,  that  they 
filled  the  whole  large  hall  with  perfume. 

I  have  never  felt  such  happiness  as  this  morning  on 
catching  sight  of  my  mother,  who  was  waiting  for  me 
in  the  street.  And  I  said  to  her  as  I  ran  to  meet 
her :  — 

"  Oh,  I  am  happy  !  what  is  it  that  makes  me  so  happy 
this  morning?"  And  my  mother  answered  me  with  a 
smile  that  it  was  the  beautiful  season  and  a  good  con- 
science. 


KING  UMBER  TO.  191 


KING  UMBERTO. 

Monday,  3d. 

At  ten  o'clock  precisely  my  father  saw  from  the 
window  Coretti,  the  wood-seller,  and  his  son  waiting 
for  me  in  the  square,  and  said  to  me  :  — 

"  There  they  are,  Enrico  ;  go  and  see  your  king." 

I  went  like  a  flash.  Both  father  and  son  were  even 
more  alert  than  usual,  and  they  never  seemed  to  me 
to  resemble  each  other  so  strongly  as  this  morning. 
The  father  wore  on  his  jacket  the  medal  for  valor  be- 
tween two  commemorative  medals,  and  his  mustaches 
were  curled  and  as  pointed  as  two  pins. 

We  at  once  set  out  for  the  railway  station,  where 
the  king  was  to  arrive  at  half-past  ten.  Coretti,  the 
father,  smoked  his  pipe  and  rubbed  his  hands.  "  Do 
you  know,"  said  he,  "I  have  not  seen  him  since  the 
war  of  'sixty-six?  A  trifle  of  fifteen  years  and  six 
months.  First,  three  years  in  France,  and  then  at 
Mondovl,  and  here,  where  I  might  have  seen  him,  I 
have  never  had  the  good  luck  of  being  in  the  city  when 
he  came.  Such  a  combination  of  circumstances  !  " 

He  called  the  King  "Umberto,"  like  a  comrade. 
Umberto  commanded  the  16th  division  ;  Umberto  was 
twenty-two  years  and  so  man}'  days  old ;  Umberto 
mounted  a  horse  thus  and  so. 

•'Fifteen  years!"  he  said  vehemently,  accelerating 
his  pace.  "I  really  have  a  great  desire  to  see  him 
again.  I  left  him  a  prince  ;  I  see  him  once  more,  a 
king.  And  I,  too,  have  changed.  From  a  soldier  I 
have  become  a  hawker  of  wood."  And  he  laughed. 

His  son  asked  him,  "  If  he  were  to  see  you,  would  he 
remember  you  ?  " 


192  KING   UMBERTO. 

He  began  to  laugh. 

"  You  are  crazy  !  "  he  answered.  "  That's  quite  an- 
other thing.  He,  Umberto,  was  one  single  man  ;  we 
were  as  numerous  as  flies.  And  then,  he  never  looked 
at  us  one  by  one." 

We  turned  into  the  Corso  Vittorio  Emanuele  ;  there 
were  many  people  on  their  way  to  the  station.  A  com- 
pany of  Alpine  soldiers  passed  with  their  trumpets. 
Two  armed  policemen  passed  by  on  horseback  at  a  gal- 
lop. The  day  was  serene  and  brilliant. 

"Yes!"  exclaimed  the  elder  Coretti,  growing  ani- 
mated, "  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  me  to  see  him  once 
more,  the  general  of  my  division.  Ah,  how  quickly 
I  have  grown  old  !  It  seems  as  though  it  were  only 
the  other  da}T  that  I  had  my  knapsack  on  my  shoul- 
ders and  ntygun  in  my  bands,  at  that  affair  of  the  24th 
of  June,  when  we  were  on  the  point  of  coming  to 
blows.  Umberto  was  going  to  and  fro  with  his  offi- 
cers, while  the  cannon  were  thundering  in  the  distance  ; 
and  every  one  was  gazing  at  him  and  saying,  '  May 
there  not  be  a  bullet  for  him  also  ! '  I  was  a  thousand 
miles  from  thinking  that  I  should  soon  find  myself  so 
near  him,  in  front  of  the  lances  of  the  Austrian  uhlans; 
actually,  only  four  paces  from  each  other,  boys.  That 
was  a  fine  day  ;  the  sky  was  like  a  mirror  ;  but  so  hot ! 
Let  us  see  if  we  can  get  in." 

We  had  arrived  at  the  station ;  there  was  a  great 
crowd,  —  carriages,  policemen,  carabineers,  societies 
with  banners.  A  regimental  band  was  playing.  The 
elder  Coretti  attempted  to  enter  the  portico,  but  he  was 
stopped.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  to  force  his  way 
into  the  front  row  of  the  crowd  which  formed  an  open- 
ing at  the  entrance ;  and  making  way  with  his  elbow, 
he  succeeded  in  thrusting  us  forward  also.  But  the 


KING   UMBER  TO.  193 

undulating  throng  flung  us  hither  and  thither  a  little. 
The  wood-seller  got  his  eye  upon  the  first  pillar  of  the 
portico,  where  the  police  did  not  allow  any  one  to  stand  ; 
"  Come  with  me,"  he  said  suddenly,  dragging  us  by 
the  hand  ;  and  he  crossed  the  empty  space  in  two  bounds, 
and  went  and  planted  himself  there,  with  his  back  against 
the  wall. 

A  police  brigadier  instantly  hurried  up  and  said  to 
him,  "  You  can't  stand  here." 

"I  belong  to  the  fourth  battalion  of  forty-nine," 
replied  Coretti,  touching  his  medal. 

The  brigadier  glanced  at  it,  and  said,   "  Remain." 

"  Didn't  I  say  so  !  "  exclaimed  Coretti  triumphantly  ; 
"  it's  a  magic  word,  that  fourth  of  the  forty-ninth  ! 
Haven't  I  the  right  to  see  my  general  with  some  little 
comfort,  —  I,  who  was  in  that  squadron  ?  I  saw  him 
close  at  hand  then  ;  it  seems  right  that  I  should  see  him 
close  at  hand  now.  And  I  say  general !  He  was  my 
battalion  commander  for  a  good  half-hour ;  for  at  such 
moments  he  commanded  the  battalion  himself,  while  it 
was  in  the  heart  of  things,  and  not  Major  Ubrich,  by 
Heavens ! " 

In  the  meantime,  in  the  reception-room  and  outside, 
a  great  mixture  of  gentlemen  and  officers  was  visible, 
and  in  front  of  the  door,  the  carriages,  with  the  lack- 
eys dressed  in  red,  were  drawn  up  in  a  line. 

Coretti  asked  his  father  whether  Prince  Umberto  had 
his  sword  in  his  hand  when  he  was  with  the  regiment. 

"He  would  certainly  have  had  his  sword  in  his 
hand,"  the  latter  replied,  "  to  ward  off  a  blow  from  a 
lance,  which  might  strike  him  as  well  as  another.  Ah ! 
those  unchained  demons  !  They  came  down  on  us  like 
the  wrath  of  God  ;  they  descended  on  us.  The}'  swept 
between  the  groups,  the  squadrons,  the  cannon,  as 


194  KING    UMBERTO. 

though  tossed  by  a  hurricane,  crushing  down  every- 
thing. There  was  a  whirl  of  light  cavalry  of  Ales- 
sandria, of  lancers  of  Foggia,  of  infantry,  of  sharp- 
shooters, a  pandemonium  in  which  nothing  could  any 
longer  be  understood.  I  heard  the  shout,  '  Your  High- 
ness !  your  Highness ! '  I  saw  the  lowered  lances 
approaching ;  we  discharged  our  guns ;  a  cloud  of 
smoke  hid  everything.  Then  the  smoke  cleared  away. 
The  ground  was  covered  with  horses  and  uhlans, 
wounded-  and  dead.  I  turned  round,  and  beheld  in 
our  midst  Umberto,  on  horseback,  gazing  tranquilly 
about,  with  the  air  of  demanding,  '  Have  any  of  my 
lads  received  a  scratch?'  And  we  shouted  to  him, 
'  Hurrah  ! '  right  in  his  face,  like  madmen.  Heavens, 
what  a  moment  that  was  !  Here's  the  train  coming  !  " 

The  band  struck  up ;  the  officers  hastened  forward  ; 
the  crowd  elevated  themselves  on  tiptoe. 

"  Eh,  he  won't  come  out  in  a  hurry,"  said  a  police- 
man ;  "  the}'  are  presenting  him  with  an  address  now." 

The  elder  Coretti  was  beside  himself  with  impatience. 

"  Ah  !  when  I  think  of  it,"  he  said,  "  I  always  see  him 
there.  Of  course,  there  is  cholera  and  there  are  earth- 
quakes ;  and  in  them,  too,  he  bears  himself  bravely  ; 
but  I  always  have  him  before  my  mind  as  I  saw  him 
then,  among  us,  with  that  tranquil  face.  I  am  sure 
that  he  too  recalls  the  fourth  of  the  forty-ninth,  even 
now  that  he  is  King ;  and  that  it  would  give  him  pleas- 
ure to  have  for  once,  at  a  table  together,  all  those  whom 
he  saw  about  him  at  such  moments.  Now,  he  has  gen- 
erals, and  great  gentlemen,  and  courtiers  ;  then,  there 
was  no  one  but  us  poor  soldiers.  If  we  could  only  ex- 
change a  few  words  alone !  Our  general  of  twenty- 
two  ;  our  prince,  who  was  intrusted  to  our  bayonets  ! 
I  have  not  seen  him  for  fifteen  years.  Our  Umberto ! 


KING  UMBERTO.  195 

that's  what  he  is  !  Ah  !  that  music  stirs  my  blood,  on 
my  word  of  honor." 

An  outburst  of  shouts  interrupted  him ;  thousands 
of  hats  rose  in  the  air ;  four  gentlemen  dressed  in 
black  got  into  the  first  can-iage. 

"'Tis  he!"  cried  Coretti,  and  stood  as  though  en- 
chanted. 

Then  he  said  softly,  "  Madonna  mia,  how  gray  he 
has  grown  ! " 

"We  all  three  uncovered  our  heads  ;  the  carriage  ad- 
vanced slowly  through  the  crowd,  who  shouted  and 
waved  their  hats.  I  looked  at  the  elder  Coretti.  He 
seemed  to  me  another  man  ;  he  seemed  to  have  become 
taller,  graver,  rather  pale,  and  fastened  bolt  upright 
against  the  pillar. 

The  carriage  arrived  in  front  of  us,  a  pace  distant 
from  the  pillar.  "  Hurrah  !  "  shouted  many  voices. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  shouted  Coretti,  after  the  others. 

The  King  glanced  at  his  face,  and  his  eye  dwelt  for 
a  moment  on  his  three  medals. 

Then  Coretti  lost  his  head,  and  roared,  "  The  fourth 
battalion  of  the  forty-ninth  !  " 

The  King,  who  had  turned  away,  turned  towards  us 
again,  and  looking  Coretti  straight  in  the  eye,  reached 
his  hand  out  of  the  carriage. 

Coretti  gave  one  leap  forwards  and  clasped  it.  The 
carriage  passed  on  ;  the  crowd  broke  in  and  separated 
us  ;  we  lost  sight  of  the  elder  Coretti.  But  it  was  only 
for  a  moment.  We  found  him  again  directly,  panting, 
with  wet  eyes,  calling  for  his  son  by  name,  and  holding 
his  hand  on  high.  His  son  flew  towards  him,  and  he 
said,  "  Here,  little  one,  while  my  hand  is  still  warm  !  " 
and  he  passed  his  hand  over  the  boy's  face,  saying, 
"  This  is  a  caress  from  the  King." 


196  THE  INFANT  ASYLUM. 

And  there  he  stood,  as  though  in  a  dream,  with  his 
C3'es  fixed  on  the  distant  carriage,  smiling,  with  his 
pipe  in  his  hand,  in  the  centre  of  a  group  of  curious 
people,  who  were  staring  at  him.  "He's  one  of  the 
fourth  battalion  of  the  forty-ninth  !"  they  said.  "  He 
is  a  soldier  that  knows  the  King."  "And  the  King 
recognized  him."  "And  he  offered  him  his  hand." 
"  He  gave  the  King  a  petition,"  said  one,  more  loudly. 

"  No,"  replied  Coretti,  whirling  round  abruptly  ;  "  I 
did  not  give  him  any  petition.  There  is  something 
else  that  I  would  give  him,  if  he  were  to  ask  it  of  me." 

They  all  stared  at  him. 

And  he  said  simply,  "My  blood." 


THE  INFANT   ASYLUM. 

Tuesday,  4th. 

After  breakfast  yesterday  my  mother  took  me,  as 
she  had  promised,  to  the  Infant  Asylum  in  the  Corso 
Valdocco,  in  order  to  recommend  to  the  directress  a 
little  sister  of  Precossi.  I  had  never  seen  an  asylum. 
How  much  amused  I  was  !  There  were  two  hundred 
of  them,  boy-babies  and  girl-babies,  and  so  small  that 
the  children  in  our  lower  primary  schools  are  men  in 
comparison. 

We  arrived  just  as  they  were  entering  the  refectory 
in  two  files,  where  there  were  two  very  long  tables, 
with  a  great  many  round  holes,  and  in  each  hole  a 
black  bowl  filled  with  rice  and  beans,  and  a  tin  spoon 
beside  it.  On  entering,  some  grew  confused  and 
remained  on  the  floor  until  the  mistresses  ran  and 
picked  them  up.  Many  halted  in  front  of  a  bowl, 
thinking  it  was  their  proper  place,  and  had  already 


THE  INFANT  ASYLUM.  197 

swallowed  a  spoonful,  when  a  mistress  arrived  and  said, 
"  Go  on  !  "  and  then  they  advanced  three  or  four  paces 
and  got  down  another  spoonful,  and  then  advanced 
again,  until  they  reached  their  own  places,  after 
having  fraudulently  disposed  of  half  a  portion.  At  last, 
by  dint  of  pushing  and  crying,  "  Make  haste  !  make 
haste!  "  they  were  all  got  into  order,  and  the  prayer 
was  begun.  But  all  those  on  the  inner  line,  who  had 
to  turn  their  backs  on  the  bowls  for  the  prayer,  twisted 
their  heads  round  so  that  they  could  keep  an  eye  on 
them,  lest  some  one  might  meddle ;  and  then  they 
said  their  prayer  thus,  with  hands  clasped  and  their 
eyes  on  the  ceiling,  but  with  their  hearts  on  their  food. 
Then  they  set  to  eating.  Ah,  what  a  charming  sight 
it  was  !  One  ate  with  two  spoons,  another  with  his 
hands  ;  many  picked  up  the  beans  one  by  one,  and 
thrust  them  into  their  pockets  •,  others  wrapped  them 
tightly  in  their  little  aprons,  and  pounded  them  to 
reduce  them  to  a  paste.  There  were  even  some  who 
did  not  eat,  because  they  were  watching  the  flies 
flying,  and  others  coughed  and  sprinkled  a  shower 
of  rice  all  around  them.  It  resembled  a  poulfry- 
yard.  But  it  was  charming.  The  two  rows  of  babies 
formed  a  pretty  sight,  with  their  hair  all  tied  on  the 
tops  of  their  heads  with  red,  green,  and  blue  ribbons. 
One  teacher  asked  a  row  of  eight  children,  "  Where 
does  rice  grow?"  The  whole  eight  opened  their 
mouths  wide,  filled  as  they  were  with  the  pottage, 
and  replied  in  concert,  in  a  sing-song,  "It  grows  in 
the  water."  Then  the  teacher  gave  the  order,  "  Hands 
up ! "  and  it  was  pretty  to  see  all  those  little  arms  fly 
up,  which  a  few  months  ago  were  all  in  swaddling- 
clothes,  and  all  those  little  hands  flourishing,  which 
looked  like  so  many  white  and  pink  butterflies. 


198  THE  INFANT  ASYLUM. 

Then  they  all  went  to  recreation  ;  but  first  they  all 
took  their  little  baskets,  which  were  hanging  on   the 
wall  with  their  lunches  in  them.     The}'  went  out  into 
the  garden    and   scattered,  drawing   forth   their   pro- 
visions as  they  did  so,  —  bread,  stewed  plums,  a  tiny 
bit  of  cheese,  a  hard-boiled  egg,  little  apples,  a  hand- 
ful of  boiled  vetches,  or  a  wing  of   chicken.     In  an 
instant  the  whole  garden  was  strewn  with  crumbs,  as 
though  they  had  been  scattered  from  their  feed  by  a 
flock  of  birds.     They  ate  in  all  the  queerest  ways,  — 
like  rabbits,  like  rats,  like  cats,  nibbling,  licking,  suck- 
ing.    There   was   one    child   who   held    a   bit   of    rye 
bread  hugged  closely  to  his  breast,  and  was  rubbing 
it  with  a  medlar,  as  though  he  were  polishing  a  sword. 
Some  of   the  little  ones  crushed   in   their   fists    small 
cheeses,  which  trickled  between  their  fingers  like  milk, 
and   ran   down   inside   their   sleeves,    and    they   were 
utterly  unconscious  of  it.     They  ran  and  chased  each 
other  with  apples  and  rolls  in  their  teeth,  like  dogs. 
I  saw  three   of   them   excavating   a   hard-boiled   egg 
with  a  straw,  thinking  to  discover  treasures,  and  they 
spilled   half   of   it   on   the   ground,    and   then  picked 
the  crumbs  up  again  one  by  one  with  great  patience, 
as  though  the}'  had  been  pearls.     And  those  who  had 
anything    extraordinary  were  surrounded  by  eight  or 
ten,  who  stood  staring  at  the  baskets  with  bent  heads, 
as  though  they  were   looking  at  the  moon  in  a  well. 
There   were   twenty   congregated   round  a  mite  of  a 
fellow  who  had  a  paper  horn  of  sugar,  and  they  were 
going  through    all   sorts  of   ceremonies  with   him  for 
the    privilege   of   dipping   their   bread   in   it,   and    he 
accorded   it    to    some,    while   to    others,   after   many 
prayers,  he  only  granted  his  finger  to  suck. 

In   the   meantime,  my  mother  had   come   into   the 


THE  INFANT  ASYLUM.  199 

garden  and  was  caressing  now  one  and  now  another. 
Many  hung  about  her,  and  even  on  her  back,  begging 
for  a  kiss,  with  faces  upturned  as  though  to  a  third 
story,  and  with  mouths  that  opened  and  shut  as 
though  asking  for  the  breast.  One  offered  her  the 
quarter  of  an  orange  which  had  been  bitten,  another 
a  small  crust  of  bread  ;  one  little  girl  gave  her  a  leaf ; 
another  showed  her,  with  all  seriousness,  the  tip  of 
her  forefinger,  a  minute  examination  of  which  re- 
vealed a  microscopic  swelling,  which  had  been  caused 
by  touching  the  flame  of  a  candle  on  the  preceding 
day.  They  placed  before  her  eyes,  as  great  marvels, 
very  tiny  insects,  which  I  cannot  understand  their 
being  able  to  see  and  catch,  the  halfs  of  corks,  shirt- 
buttons,  and  flowerets  pulled  from  the  vases.  One 
child,  with  a  bandaged  head,  who  was  determined 
to  be  heard  at  any  cost,  stammered  out  to  her  some 
story  about  a  head-over-heels  tumble,  not  one  word 
of  which  was  intelligible ;  another  insisted  that  my 
mother  should  bend  down,  and  then  whispered  in  her 
ear,  "  My  father  makes  brushes." 

And  in  the  meantime  a  thousand  accidents  were 
happening  here  and  there  which  caused  the  teachers 
to  hasten  up.  Children  wept  because  they  could  not 
untie  a  knot  in  their  handkerchiefs  ;  others  disputed, 
with  scratches  and  shrieks,  the  halves  of  an  apple ; 
one  child,  who  had  fallen  face  downward  over  a  little 
bench  which  had  been  overturned,  wept  amid  the  ruins, 
and  could  not  rise. 

Before  her  departure  my  mother  took  three  or  four 
of  them  in  her  arms,  and  the}7  ran  up  from  all  quar- 
ters to  be  taken  also,  their  faces  smeared  with  yolk 
of  egg  and  orange  juice  ;  and  one  caught  her  hands ; 
another  her  finger,  to  look  at  her  ring  ;  another  tugged 


200  THE  INFANT  ASYLUM. 

at  her  watch  chain ;    another   tried   to   seize   her   by 
the  hair. 

"Take  care,"  the  teacher  said  to  her;  "  the}'  will 
tear  your  clothes  all  to  pieces." 

But  rny  mother  cared  nothing  for  her  dress,  and  she 
continued  to  kiss  them,  and  they  pressed  closer  and 
closer  to  her :  those  who  were  nearest,  with  their  arms 
extended  as  though  they  were  desirous  of  climbing ; 
the  more  distant  endeavoring  to  make  their  way 
through  the  crowd,  and  all  screaming  :  — 

' '  Good  by  !  good  by  !  good  by  !  " 

At  last  she  succeeded  in  escaping  from  the  garden. 
And  they  all  ran  and  thrust  their  faces  through  the 
railings  to  see  her  pass,  and  to  thrust  their  arms 
through  to  greet  her,  offering  her  once  more  bits  of 
bread,  bites  of  apple,  cheese-rinds,  and  all  screaming 
in  concert :  — 

1    "Good  by!    good  b}- !   good   by!     Come  back  to- 
morrow !     Come  again  !  " 

As  my  mother  made  her  escape,  she  passed  her 
hand  once  more  over  those  hundreds  of  tiny  out- 
stretched hands  as  over  a  garland  of  living  roses, 
and  finally  arrived  safely  in  the  street,  covered 
with  crumbs  and  spots,  rumpled  and  dishevelled, 
with  one  hand  full  of  flowers  and  her  eyes  swelling 
with  tears,  and  happy  as  though  she  had  come  from 
a  festival.  And  inside  there  was  still  audible  a  sound 
like  the  twittering  of  birds,  saying :  — 

"  Good  by  !  good  by  !     Come  again,  madama!  " 


GYMNASTICS.  201 


GYMNASTICS. 

Tuesday,  5th. 

As  the  weather  continues  extremely  fine,  they  have 
made  us  pass  from  chamber  gymnastics  to  gymnastics 
with  apparatus  in  the  garden. 

Garrone  was  in  the  head-master's  office  yesterda}' 
when  Nelli's  mother,  that  blond  woman  dressed  in 
black,  came  in  to  get  her  son  excused  from  the  new 
exercises.  Every  word  cost  her  an  effort ;  and  as  she 
spoke,  she  held  one  hand  on  her  son's  head. 

"  He  is  not  able  to  do  it,"  she  said  to  the  head-mas- 
ter. But  Nelli  showed  much  grief  at  this  exclusion 
from  the  apparatus,  at  having  this  added  humiliation 
imposed  upon  him. 

"  You  will  see,  mamma,"  he  said,  "  that  I  shall  do 
like  the  rest." 

His  mother  gazed  at  him  in  silence,  with  an  air  of 
pity  and  affection.  Then  she  remarked,  in  a  hesitat- 
ing way,  "  I  fear  lest  his  companions  — " 

What  she  meant  to  say  was,  "  lest  they  should  make 
sport  of  him."  But  Nelli  replied  :  — 

"  They  will  not  do  anything  to  me — and  then,  there 
is  Garrone.  It  is  sufficient  for  him  to  be  present,  to 
prevent  their  laughing." 

And  then  he  was  allowed  to  come.  The  teacher 
with  the  wound  on  his  neck,  who  was  with  Garabaldi. 
led  us  at  once  to  the  vertical  bars,  which  are  very  high,, 
and  we  had  to  climb  to  the  very  top,  and  stand  up- 
right on  the  transverse  plank.  Derossi  and  Coretti 
went  up  like  monkeys  ;  even  little  Precossi  mounted 
briskh",  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  embarrassed 
with  that  jacket  which  extends  to  his  knoes  :  and  in 


202 

order  to  make  him  laugh  while  he  was  climbing,  all  tht> 
boys  repeated  to  him  his  constant  expression,  "  Excuse 
me  !  excuse  me  !  "  Stardi  puffed,  turned  as  red  as  a 
turkey-cock,  and  set  his  teeth  until  he  looked  like  a 
mad  dog ;  but  he  would  have  reached  the  top  at  the 
expense  of  bursting,  and  he  actually  did  get  there  ;  and 
so  did  Nobis,  who,  when  he  reached  the  summit,  as- 
sumed the  attitude  of  an  emperor ;  but  Votiui  slipped 
back  twice,  notwithstanding  his  fine  new  suit  with 
azure  stripes,  which  had  been  made  expressly  for  gym- 
nastics. 

In  order  to  climb  the  more  easily,  all  the  boys  had 
daubed  their  hands  with  resin,  which  they  call  coloph- 
ony, and  as  a  matter  of  course  it  is  that  trader  of  a 
Garoffi  who  provides  every  one  with  it,  in  a  powdered 
form,  selling  it  at  a  soldo  the  paper  hornful,  and  turn- 
ing a  pretty  penny. 

Then  it  was  Garrone's  turn,  and  up  he  went,  chew- 
ing away  at  his  bread  as  though  it  were  nothing  out  of 
the  common  ;  and  I  believe  that  he  would  have  been 
capable  of  carrying  one  of  us  up  on  his  shoulders,  for 
he  is  as  muscular  and  strong  as  a  young  bull. 

After  Garrone  came  Nelli.  No  sooner  did  the  boys 
see  him  grasp  the  bars  with  those  long,  thin  hands  of 
his,  than  many  of  them  began  to  laugh  and  to  sing  ;  but 
Garrone  crossed  his  big  arms  on  his  breast,  and  darted 
round  a  glance  which  was  so  expressive,  which  so 
clearly  said  that  he  did  not  mind  dealing  out  half  a 
dozen  punches,  even  in  the  master's  presence,  that 
they  all  ceased  laughing  on  the  instant.  Nelli  began 
t.)  clirnb.  He  tried  hard,  poor  little  fellow  ;  his  face 
grew  purple,  he  breathed  with  difficulty,  and  the  per- 
spiration poured  from  his  brow.  The  master  said, 
"  Come  down ! "  But  he  would  not.  He  strove  and 


'THE  BOYS  HAD  DAUBED  THEIR   HANDS  WITH   RESIN."  —  Page  202. 


GYMNASTICS.  203 

persisted.  I  expected  every  moment  to  see  him  fall 
headlong,  half  dead.  Poor  Nelli !  I  thought,  what  if 
I  had  been  like  him,  and  my  mother  had  seen  me  ! 
How  she  would  have  suffered,  poor  mother  !  And  as 
I  thought  of  that  I  felt  so  tenderly  towards  Nelli  that 
I  could  have  given,  I  know  not  what,  to  be  able,  for  the 
sake  of  having  him  climb  those  bars,  to  give  him  a 
push  from  below  without  being  seen. 

Meanwhile  Garrone,  Derossi,  and  Coretti  were  say- 
ing:  "Up  with  you,  Nelli,  up  with  you!"  "Try  — 
one  effort  more  —  courage!"  And  Nelli  made  one 
more  violent  effort,  uttering  a  groan  as  he  did  so,  and 
found  himself  within  two  spans  of  the  plank. 

"Bravo!"  shouted  the  others.  "Courage  —  one 
dash  more !  "  and  behold  Nelli  clinging  to  the  plank. 

All  clapped  their  hands.  "  Bravo  !  "  said  the  mas- 
ter. "But  that  will  do  now.  Comedown." 

But  Nelli  wished  to  ascend  to  the  top  like  the  rest, 
and  after  a  little  exertion  he  succeeded  in  getting  his 
elbows  on  the  plank,  then  his  knees,  then  his  feet ;  at 
last  he  stood  upright,  panting  and  smiling,  and  gazed 
at  us. 

We  began  to  clap  again,  and  then  he  looked  into  the 
street.  I  turned  in  that  direction,  and  through  the 
plants  which  cover  the  iron  railing  of  the  garden  I 
caught  sight  of  his  mother,  passing  along  the  sidewalk 
without  daring  to  look.  Nelli  descended,  and  we  all 
made  much  of  him.  He  was  excited  and  rosy,  his  eyes 
sparkled,  and  he  no  longer  seemed  like  the  same  boy. 

Then,  at  the  close  of  school,  when  his  mother  came 
to  meet  him,  and  inquired  with  some  anxiet}*,  as  she 
embraced  him,  "  Well,  my  poor  son,  how  did  it  go? 
how  did  it  go?"  all  his  comrades  replied,  in  concert, 
4 '  He  did  well  —  lie  climbed  like  the  rest  of  us  —  he's 


204  MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER. 

strong,  you  know  —  he's  active  —  he  does  exactly  like 
the  others." 

And  then  the  joy  of  that  woman  was  a  sight  to  see. 
She  tried  to  thank  us,  and  could  not ;  she  shook  hands 
with  three  or  four,  bestowed  a  caress  on  Garrone,  and 
carried  off  her  son  ;  and  we  watched  them  for  a  while, 
walking  in  haste,  and  talking  and  gesticulating,  both 
perfectly  happy,  as  though  no  one  were  looking  at 
them. 


MY  FATHER'S  TEACHER. 

Tuesday,  llth. 

What  a  beautiful  excursion  I  took  yesterday  with 
my  father !  This  is  the  way  it  came  about. 

Day  before  yesterday,  at  dinner,  as  my  father  was 
reading  the  newspaper,  he  suddenly  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation of  astonishment.  Then  he  said:  — 

"  And  I  thought  him  dead  twenty  years  ago  !  Do 
you  know  that  my  old  first  elementary  teacher,  Vin- 
cenzo  Crosetti,  is  eighty -four  years  old?  I  see  here 
that  the  minister  has  conferred  on  him  the  medal  of 
merit  for  sixty  years  of  teaching.  Six-ty  ye-ars, 
you  understand !  And  it  is  only  two  years  since  he 
stopped  teaching  school.  Poor  Crosetti !  He  lives  an 
hour's  journey  from  here  by  rail,  at  Condove,  in  the 
country  of  our  old  gardener's  wife,  of  the  town  of  Chi- 
eri."  And  he  added,  "  Enrico,  we  will  go  and  see 
him." 

And  the  whole  evening  he  talked  of  nothing  but  him. 
The  name  of  his  primary  teacher  recalled  to  his  mind  a 
thousand  things  which  had  happened  when  he  was  a 
boy,  his  early  companions,  his  dead  mother.  "  Cro- 
setti!"  he  exclaimed.  "He  was  fort}*  when  I  wa& 


MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER.  205 

with  him.  I  seem  to  see  him  now.  He  was  a  small 
man,  somewhat  bent  even  then,  with  bright  eyes,  and 
always  cleanly  shaved.  Severe,  but  in  a  good  way; 
for  he  loved  us  like  a  father,  and  forgave  us  more  than 
one  offence.  He  had  risen  from  the  condition  of  a 
peasant  by  dint  of  study  and  privations.  He  was  a 
fine  man.  My  mother  was  attached  to  him,  and  my 
father  treated  him  like  a  friend.  How  comes  it  that 
he  has  gone  to  end  his  days  at  Condove,  near  Turin  ? 
He  certainly  will  not  recognize  me.  Never  mind  ;  I 
shall  recognize  him.  Forty-four  years  have  elapsed,  — 
forty-four  years,  Enrico  !  and  we  will  go  to  see  him 
to-morrow." 

And  yesterday  morning,  at  nine  o'clock,  we  were  at 
the  Susa  railway  station.  I  should  have  liked  to  have 
Garrone  come  too ;  but  he  could  not,  because  his 
mother  is  ill. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spring  day.  The  train  ran  through 
green  fields  and  hedgerows  in  blossom,  and  the  air  we 
breathed  was  perfumed.  My  father  was  delighted, 
and  every  little  while  he  would  put  his  arm  round  my 
neck  and  talk  to  me  like  a  friend,  as  he  gazed  out  over 
the  country. 

"  Poor  Crosetti  ! "  he  said ;  "he  was  the  first  man, 
after  my  father,  to  love  me  and  do  me  good.  I  have 
never  forgotten  certain  of  his  good  counsels,  and  also 
certain  sharp  reprimands  which  caused  me  to  return 
home  with  a  lump  in  my  throat.  His  hands  were  large 
and  stubby.  I  can  see  him  now,  as  he  used  to  enter 
the  schoolroom,  place  his  cane  in  a  corner  and  hang  his 
coat  on  the  peg,  always  with  the  same  gesture.  And 
every  day  he  was  in  the  same  humor,  —  always  con- 
scientious, full  of  good  will,  and  attentive,  as  though 
each  day  he  were  teaching  school  for  the  first  time.  I 


206  MY  FATHER'S    TEACHER. 

remember  him  as  well  as  though  I  heard  him  now  when 
he  called  to  me  :  '  Bottini !  eh,  Bottini !  The  fore  and 
middle  fingers  on  that  pen  ! '  He  must  have  changed 
greatly  in  these  four  and  forty  years." 

As  soon  as  we  reached  Condove,  we  went  in  search 
of  our  old  gardener's  wife  of  Chieri,  who  keeps  a  stall 
in  an  alley.  We  found  her  with  her  boys  :  she  made 
much  of  us  and  gave  us  news  of  her  husband,  who  is 
soon  to  return  from  Greece,  where  he  has  been  working 
these  three  years  ;  and  of  her  eldest  daughter,  who  is  in 
the  Deaf-mute  Institute  in  Turin.  Then  she  pointed 
out  to  us  the  street  which  led  to  the  teacher's  house, 
—  for  every  one  knows  him. 

We  left  the  town,  and  turned  into  a  steep  lane  flanked 
by  blossoming  hedges. 

My  father  no  longer  talked,  but  appeared  entirely 
absorbed  in  his  reminiscences  ;  and  every  now  and  then 
ue  smiled,  and  then  shook  his  head. 

Suddenly  he  halted  and  said:  "Here  he  is.  I  will 
wager  that  this  is  he."  Down  the  lane  towards  us  a 
little  old  man  with  a  white  beard  and  a  large  hat  was 
descending,  leaning  on  a  cane.  He  dragged  his  feet 
along,  and  his  hands  trembled. 

"  It  is  he  ! "  repeated  my  father,  hastening  his  steps. 

When  we  were  close  to  him,  we  stopped.  The  old 
man  stopped  also  and  looked  at  rny  father.  His  face 
was  still  fresh  colored,  and  his  eyes  were  clear  and 
vivacious. 

"  Are  you,"  asked  my  father,  raising  his  hat,  "  Vin- 
cenzo  Crosetti,  the  schoolmaster  ?  " 

The  old  man  raised  his  hat  also,  and  replied:  "I 
am,"  in  a  voice  that  was  somewhat  tremulous,  but  full. 

"Well,  then,"  said  my  father,  taking  one  of  his 
hands,  "  permit  one  of  your  old  scholars  to  shake  your 


MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER.  207 

hand  and  to  inquire  how  you  are.  I  have  come  from 
Turin  to  see  you." 

The  old  man  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  Then  he 
said  :  "You  do  me  too  much  honor.  I  do  not  know  — 
When  were  you  my  scholar?  Excuse  me  ;  your  name, 
if  you  please." 

My  father  mentioned  his  name,  Alberto  Bottini,  and 
the  year  in  which  he  had  attended  school,  and  where, 
and  he  added  :  "  It  is  natural  that  you  should  not  re- 
member me.  But  I  recollect  you  so  perfectly  !" 

The  master  bent  his  head  and  gazed  at  the  ground 
in  thought,  and  muttered  my  father's  name  three  or 
four  times  ;  the  latter,  meanwhile,  observed  him  with 
intent  and  smiling  eyes. 

All  at  once  the  old  man  raised  his  face,  with  his 
eyes  opened  widely,  and  said  slowly:  "Alberto  Bot- 
tini? the  son  of  BDttini,  the  engineer?  the  one  who 
lived  in  the  Piazza  della  Consolata?" 

"The  same,"  replied  my  father,  extending  his 
hands. 

"Then,"  said  the  old  man,  "permit  me,  my  dear 
sir,  permit  me " ;  and  advancing,  he  embraced  my 
father :  his  white  head  hardly  reached  the  latter's 
shoulder.  My  father  pressed  his  cheek  to  the  other's 
brow. 

"Have  the  goodness  to  come  with  me,"  said  the 
teacher.  And  without  speaking  further  he  turned 
about  and  took  the  road  to  his  dwelling. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  arrived  at  a  garden  plot  in  front 
of  a  tin}-  house  with  two  doors,  round  one  of  which 
there  was  a  fragment  of  whitewashed  wall. 

The  teacher  opened  the  second  and  ushered  us  into 
a  room.  There  were  four  white  walls  :  in  one  corner 
a  cot  bed  with  a  blue  and  white  checked  coverlet ;  in 


208  'MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER. 

another,  a  small  table  with  a  little  library  ;  four  chairs, 
and  one  ancient  geographical  map  nailed  to  the  wall. 
A  pleasant  odor  of  apples  was  perceptible. 

We  seated  ourselves,  all  three.  M}7  father  and  his 
teacher  remained  silent  for  several  minutes, 

"Bottint !  "  exclaimed  the  master  at  length,  fixing 
his  eyes  on  the  brick  floor  where  the  sunlight  formed  a 
checker-board.  "Oh!  I  remember  well !  Your  mother 
was  such  a  good  woman  !  For  a  while,  during  your 
first  3-ear,  you  sat  on  a  bench  to  the  left  near  the  win- 
dow. Let  us  see  whether  I  do  not  recall  it.  I  can  still 
see  your  curly  head."  Then  he  thought  for  a  while 
longer.  "You  were  a  lively  lad,  eh?  Very.  The 
second  year  you  had  an  attack  of  croup.  I  remember 
when  they  brought  you  back  to  school,  emaciated  and 
wrapped  up  in  a  shawl.  Forty  years  have  elapsed  since 
then,  have  they  not?  You  are  very  kind  to  remember 
your  poor  teacher.  And  do  you  know,  others  of  my 
old  pupils  have  come  hither  in  years  gone  by  to  seek  me 
out :  there  was  a  colonel,  and  there  were  some  priests, 
and  several  gentlemen."  He  asked  my  father  what 
his  profession  was.  Then  he  said,  "  I  am  glad,  heart- 
ily glad.  I  thank  you.  It  is  quite  a  while  now  since 
I  have  seen  any  one.  I  very  much  fear  that  you  will 
be  the  last,  my  dear  sir." 

"  Don't  say  that,"  exclaimed  my  father.  "  You  are 
well  and  still  vigorous.  You  must  not  say  that." 

"Eh,  no!"  replied  the  master;  "do  you  see  this 
trembling?"  and  he  showed  us  his  hands.  "  This  is  a 
bad  sign.  It  seized  on  me  three  years  ago,  while  I 
was  still  teaching  school.  At  first  I  paid  no  attention 
to  it ;  I  thought  it  would  pass  off.  But  instead  of 
that,  it  stayed  and  kept  on  increasing.  A  day  came 
when  I  could  no  longer  write.  Ah  !  that  day  on  which 


MY    FATHER'S  TEACHER.  -  Page  209. 


MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER.  209 

I,  for  the  first  time,  made  a  blot  on  the  copy-book  of 
one  of  my  scholars  was  a  stab  in  the  heart  for  me,  my 
dear  sir.  I  did  drag  on  for  a  while  longer ;  but  I  was 
at  the  end  of  my  strength.  After  sixty  years  of  teach- 
ing I  was  forced  to  bid  farewell  to  my  school,  to  my 
scholars,  to  work.  And  it  was  hard,  you  understand, 
hard.  The  last  time  that  I  gave  a  lesson,  all  the  schol- 
ars accompanied  me  home,  and  made  much  of  me  ;  but 
I  was  sad ;  I  understood  that  my  life  was  finished.  I 
had  lost  m}'  wife  the  year  before,  and  my  only  son.  I 
had  only  two  peasant  grandchildren  left.  Now  I  am 
living  on  a  pension  of  a  few  hundred  lire.  I  no  longer 
do  anything ;  it  seems  to  me  as  though  the  days  would 
never  come  to  an  end.  My  only  occupation,  you  see, 
is  to  turn  over  my  old  schoolbooks,  my  scholastic 
journals,  and  a  few  volumes  that  have  been  given  to 
me.  There  they  are,"  he  said,  indicating  his  little 
library  ;  "  there  are  my  reminiscences,  rny  whole  past ; 
I  have  nothing  else  remaining  to  me  in  the  world." 

Then  in  a  tone  that  was  suddenly  joyous,  "  I  want 
to  give  you  a  surprise,  my  dear  Signor  Bottini." 

He  rose,  and  approaching  his  desk,  he  opened  a  long 
casket  which  contained  numerous  little  parcels,  all  tied 
up  with  a  slender  cord,  and  on  each  was  written  a  date 
in  four  figures. 

After  a  little  search,  he  opened  one,  turned  over  sev- 
eral papers,  drew  forth  a  yellowed  sheet,  and  handed  it 
to  my  father.  It  was  some  of  his  school  work  of  forty 
years  before. 

At  the  top  was  written,  Alberto  Bottini,  Dictation,    • 
April  5,  1838.     My  father  instantly  recognized  his  own 
large,   schoolboy  hand,  and  began   to  read  it  with  a 
smile.     But  all  at  once  his  eyes  grew  moist.     I  rose 
and  inquired  the  cause. 


210  MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER. 

He  threw  one  arm  around  my  body,  and  pressing  me 
to  his  side,  he  said  :  "  Look  at  this  sheet  of  paper.  Do 
you  see?  These  are  the  corrections  made  by  my  poor 
mother.  She  always  strengthened  my  Z's  and  my  t's. 
And  the  last  lines  are  entirely  hers.  She  had  learned 
to  imitate  my  characters  ;  and  when  I  was  tired  and 
sleepy,  she  finished  my  work  for  me.  My  sainted 
mother ! " 

And  he  kissed  the  page. 

"  See  here,"  said  the  teacher,  showing  him  the  other 
packages;  "these  are  my  reminiscences.  Each  year 
I  laid  aside  one  piece  of  work  of  each  of  my  pupils  ; 
and  they  are  all  here,  dated  and  arranged  in  order. 
EvenT  time  that  I  open  them  thus,  and  read  a  line  here 
and  there,  a  thousand  things  recur  to  my  mind,  and  I 
seem  to  be  living  once  more  in  the  days  that  are  past. 
How  many  of  them  have  passed,  my  dear  sir !  I  close 
my  eyes,  and  I  see  behind  me  face  after  face,  class  af- 
ter class,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  boys,  and  who 
knows  how  many  of  them  are  already  dead  !  Many  of 
them  I  remember  well.  I  recall  distinctly  the  best  and 
the  worst:  those  who  gave  me  the  greatest  pleasure, 
and  those  who  caused  me  to  pass  sorrowful  moments  : 
for  I  have  had  serpents,  too,  among  that  vast  number ! 
But  now,  you  understand,  it  is  as  though  I  were  alreach' 
in  the  other  world,  and  I  love  them  all  equally." 

He  sat  down  again,  and  took  one  of  my  hands  in 
his. 

"And  tell  me,"  my  father  said,  with  a  smile,  "do 
you  not  recall  any  roguish  tricks  ?  " 

"Of  yours,  sir?"  replied  the  old  man,  also  with  a 
smile.  "  No  ;  not  just  at  this  moment.  But  that  does 
not  in  the  least  mean  that  you  never  pla}-ed  any. 
However,  you  had  good  judgment ;  you  were  serious 


M  T  FA  THER  'S   TEA  CHER.  2 1 1 

for  your  age.  I  remember  the  great  affection  of  your 
mother  for  you.  But  it  is  very  kind  and  polite  of  you 
to  have  come  to  seek  me  out.  How  could  you  leave 
your  occupations,  to  come  and  see  a  poor  old  school- 
master ?  " 

"  Listen,  Signer  Crosetti,"  responded  my  father  with 
vivacity.  "  I  recollect  the  first  time  that  my  poor  mother 
accompanied  me  to  school.  It  was  to  be  her  first  parting 
from  me  for  two  hours  ;  of  letting  me  out  of  the  house 
alone,  in  other  hands  than  my  father's  ;  in  the  hands 
of  a  stranger,  in  short.  To  this  good  creature  my  en- 
trance into  school  was  like  my  entrance  into  the  world, 
the  first  of  a  long  series  of  necessary  and  painful  sep- 
arations ;  it  was  society  which  was  tearing  her  son  from 
her  for  the  first  time,  never  again  to  return  him  to  her 
intact.  She  was  much  affected  ;  so  was  I.  I  bade  her 
farewell  with  a  trembling  voice,  and  then,  as  she  went 
away,  I  saluted  her  once  more  through  the  glass  in  the 
door,  with  my  eyes  full  of  tears.  And  just  at  that  point 
you  made  a  gesture  with  one  hand,  laying  the  other  on 
your  breast,  as  though  to  say,  '  Trust  me,  signora.' 
Well,  the  gesture,  the  glance,  from  which  I  perceived 
that  you  had  comprehended  all  the  sentiments,  all  the 
thoughts  of  my  mother  ;  that  look  which  seemed  to  say, 
'  Courage  ! '  that  gesture  which  was  an  honest  prom- 
ise of  protection,  of  affection,  of  indulgence,  I  have 
never  forgotten  ;  it  has  remained  forever  engraved  on 
my  heart ;  and  it  is  that  memory  which  induced  me  to 
set  out  from  Turin.  And  here  I  am,  after  the  lapse 
of  four  and  forty  years,  for  the  purpose  of  saying  to 
you,  '  Thanks,  dear  teacher.' " 

The  master  did  not  reply  ;  he  stroked  my  hair  with 
his  hand,  and  his  hand  trembled,  and  glided  from  my 
hair  to  my  forehead,  from  my  forehead  to  013-  shoulder. 


212  MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER. 

In  the  meanwhile,  1113*  father  was  surveying  those 
bare  walls,  that  wretched  bed,  the  morsel  of  bread  and 
the  little  phial  of  oil  which  lay  on  the  window-sill,  and 
he  seemed  desirous  of  saying,  "Poor  master!  after 
sixty  years  of  teaching,  is  this  all  tlry  recompense  ?  " 

But  the  good  old  man  was  content,  and  began  once 
more  to  talk  with  vivacity  of  our  family,  of  the  other 
teachers  of  that  day,  and  of  my  father's  schoolmates  ; 
some  of  them  he  remembered,  and  some  of  them  he  did 
not ;  and  each  told  the  other  news  of  this  one  or  of 
that  one.  "When  my  father  interrupted  the  conversa- 
tion, to  beg  the  old  man  to  come  down  into  the  town 
and  lunch  with  us,  he  replied  effusively,  "I  thank 
you,  I  thank  you,"  but  he  seemed  undecided.  My 
father  took  him  by  both  hands,  and  besought  him 
afresh.  "  But  how  shall  I  manage  to  eat,"  said  the 
master,  "with  these  poor  hands  which  shake  in  this 
way  ?  It  is  a  penance  for  others  also." 

"We  will  help  you,  master,"  said  my  father.  And 
then  he  accepted,  as  he  shook  his  head  and  smiled. 

"This  is  a  beautiful  day,"  he  said,  as  he  closed  the 
outer  door,  "  a  beautiful  day,  dear  Signer  Bottini !  I 
assure  you  that  I  shall  remember  it  as  long  as  I  live." 

My  father  gave  one  arm  to  the  master,  and  the  latter 
took  me  by  the  hand,  and  we  descended  the  lane.  We 
met  two  little  barefooted  girls  leading  some  cows,  and 
a  boy  who  passed  us  on  a  run,  with  a  huge  load  of 
straw  on  his  shoulders.  The  master  told  us  that  they 
were  scholars  of  the  second  grade  ;  that  in  the  morning 
they  led  the  cattle  to  pasture,  and  worked  in  the  fields 
barefoot ;  and  in  the  afternoon  they  put  on  their  shoes 
and  went  to  school.  It  was  nearly  mid-day.  We  en- 
countered no  one  else.  In  a  few  minutes  we  reached 
the  inn,  seated  ourselves  at  a  large  table,  with  the  mas- 


MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER.  213 

ter  between  us,  and  began  our  breakfast  at  once.  The 
inn  was  as  silent  as  a  convent.  The  master  was  very 
merry,  and  his  excitement  augmented  his  palsy  :  he 
could  hardly  eat.  But  my  father  cut  up  his  meat, 
broke  his  bread,  and  put  salt  on  his  plate.  In  order 
to  drink,  he  was  obliged  to  hold  the  glass  with  botlx 
hands,  and  even  then  he  struck  his  teeth.  But  he 
talked  constantly,  and  with  ardor,  of  the  reading-books 
of  his  young  days  ;  of  the  notaries  of  the  present  da}7 ; 
of  the  commendations  bestowed  on  him  by  his  su- 
periors ;  of  the  regulations  of  late  years  :  and  all  with 
that  serene  countenance,  a  trifle  redder  than  at  first, 
and  with  that  gay  voice  of  his,  and  that  laugh  which 
was  almost  the  laugh  of  a  young  man.  And  my  father 
gazed  and  gazed  at  him,  with  that  same  expression 
with  which  I  sometimes  catch  him  gazing  at  me,  at 
home,  when  he  is  thinking  and  smiling  to  himself,  with 
his  face  turned  aside. 

The  teacher  allowed  some  wine  to  trickle  down  on 
his  breast ;  my  father  rose,  and  wiped  it  off  with  his 
napkin.  "  No,  sir  ;  I  cannot  permit  this,"  the  old  man 
said,  and  smiled.  He  said  some  words  in  Latin.  And, 
finally,  he  raised  his.  glass,  which  wavered  about  in  his 
hand,  and  said  very  gravely,  "To  your  health,  my 
dear  engineer,  to  that  of  your  children,  to  the  memory 
of  your  good  mother  !  " 

"To  yours,  my  good  master!"  replied  my  father, 
pressing  his  hand.  And  at  the  end  of  the  room  stood 
the  innkeeper  and  several  others,  watching  us,  and 
smiling  as  though  they  were  pleased  at  this  attention 
which  was  being  shown  to  the  teacher  from  their  parts. 

At  a  little  after  two  o'clock  we  came  out,  and  the 
master  wanted  to  escort  us  to  the  station.  My  father 
gave  him  his  arm  once  more,  and  he  again  took  me  by 


214  MY  FATHER'S   TEACHER. 

the  hand:  I  carried  his  cane  for  him.  The  people 
paused  to  look  on,  for  they  till  knew  him  :  some  saluted 
him.  At  one  point  in  the  street  we  heard,  through  an 
open  window,  many  boys'  voices,  reading  together,  and 
spelling.  The  old  man  halted,  and  seemed  to  be  sad- 
dened by  it. 

"This,  my  dear  Siguor  Bottini,"  he  said,  "is  what 
pains  me.  To  hear  the  voices  of  boys  in  school,  and 
not  be  there  any  more  ;  to  think  that  another  man  is 
there.  I  have  heard  that  music  for  sixty  years,  and  I 
have  grown  to  love  it.  Now  I  am  deprived  of  my  fam- 
ily. I  have  no  sens." 

"No,  master/'  my  father  said  to  him,  starting  on 
again  ;  "  you  still  have  many  sons,  scattered  about  the 
world,  who  remember  you,  as  I  have  always  remem- 
bered you." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  the  master  sadby  ;  "I  have  no 
longer  a  school ;  I  have  no  longer  any  sons.  And 
without  sons,  I  shall  not  live  much  longer.  My  hour 
will  soon  strike." 

"  Do  not  say  that,  master  ;  do  not  think  it,"  said  my 
father.  "  You  have  done  so  much  good  in  every  way  ! 
You  have  put  your  life  to  such  a  noble  use !  " 

The  aged  master  inclined  his  hoary  head  for  an  in- 
stant on  my  father's  shoulder,  and  pressed  my  hand. 

We  entered  the  station.  The  train  was  on  the  point 
of  starting. 

"  Farewell,  master  !  "  said  my  father,  kissing  him  on 
both  cheeks. 

"  Farewell !  thanks  !  farewell !  "  replied  the  master, 
taking  one  of  my  father's  hands  in  his  two  trembling 
hands,  and  pressing  it  to  his  heart. 

Then  I  kissed  him  and  felt  that  his  face  was  bathed 
in  tears.  My  father  pushed  me  into  the  railway  car- 


CONVALESCENCE.  215 

riage,  and  at  the  moment  of  starting  he  quickly  removed 
the  coarse  cane  from  the  schoolmaster's  hand,  and  in 
its  place  he  put  his  own  handsome  one,  with  a  silver 
handle  and  his  initials,  saying,  "  Keep  it  in  memory  of 
me." 

The  old  man  tried  to  return  it  and  to  recover  his 
own  ;  but  my  father  was  already  inside  and  had  closed 
the  door. 

"  Farewell,  my  kind  master  !  " 

"Farewell,  my  son!"  responded  the  master  as  the 
train  moved  off;  "and  may  God  bless  you  for  the 
consolation  which  you  have  afforded  to  a  poor  old 
man  !  " 

'  •  Until  we  meet  again  !  "  cried  my  father,  in  a  voice 
full  of  emotion. 

But  the  master  shook  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  "We  shall  never  see  each  other  more." 

"Yes,  yes,"  repeated  my  father,  "until  we  meet 
again  !  " 

And  the  other  replied  by  raising  his  trembling  hand 
to  heaven,  "  Up  there  !" 

And  thus  he  disappeared  from  our  sight,  with  his 
hand  on  high. 

CONVALESCENCE. 

Thursday,  20th. 

Who  could  have  told  me,  when  I  returned  from  that 
delightful  excursion  with  my  father,  that  for  ten  days 
I  should  not  see  the  country  or  the  sky  again?  I  have 
been  very  ill  —  in  danger  of  my  life.  I  have  heard  my 
mother  sobbing  —  I  have  seen  my  father  very,  very 
pale,  gazing  intently  at  me  ;  and  my  sister  Silvia  and 
my  brother  talking  in  a  low  voice  ;  and  the  doctor,  with 
his  spectacles,  who  was  there  every  moment,  and  who 


216  CONVALESCENCE. 

said  things  to  me  that  I  did  not  understand.  In  truth, 
I  have  been  on  the  verge  of  saying  a  final  farewell  to 
every  one.  Ah,  my  poor  mother !  I  passed  three  or 
four  days  at  least,  of  which  I  recollect  almost  nothing, 
as  though  I  had  been  in  a  dark  and  perplexing  dream. 
I  thought  I  beheld  at  my  bedside  my  kind  schoolmis- 
tress of  the  upper  primary,  who  was  trying  to  stifle  her 
cough  in  her  handkerchief  in  order  not  to  disturb  me. 
In  the  same  manner  I  confusedly  recall  my  master, 
who  bent  over  to  kiss  me,  and  who  pricked  my  face  a 
little  with  his  beard  ;  and  I  saw,  as  in  a  mist,  the 
red  head  of  Crossi,  the  golden  curls  of  Derossi,  the 
Calabrian  clad  in  black,  all  pass  by,  and  Garrone,  who 
brought  me  a  mandarin  orange  with  its  leaves,  and 
ran  away  in  haste  because  his  mother  is  ill. 

Then  I  awoke  as  from  a  very  long  dream,  and  under- 
stood that  I  was  better  from  seeing  my  father  and 
mother  smiling,  and  hearing  Silvia  singing  softly.  Oh, 
what  a  sad  dream  it  was  !  Then  I  began  to  improve 
every  day.  The  little  mason  came  and  made  me  laugh 
once  more  for  the  first  time,  with  his  hare's  face  ;  and 
how  well  he  does  it,  now  that  his  face  is  somewhat 
elongated  through  illness,  poor  fellow  !  And  Coretti 
came  ;  and  Garoffl  came  to  present  me  with  two  tickets 
in  his  new  lottery  of  "  a  penknife  with  five  surprises." 
which  he  purchased  of  a  second-hand  dealer  in  the  Via 
Bertola.  Then,  yesterday,  while  I  was  asleep,  Pre- 
cossi  came  and  laid  his  cheek  on  my  hand  without  wak- 
ing me  ;  and  as  he  came  from  his  father's  workshop, 
with  his  face  covered  with  coal  dust,  he  left  a  black 
print  on  my  sleeve,  the  sight  of  which  caused  me  great 
pleasure  when  I  awoke. 

How  green  the  trees  have  become  in  these  few  days  ! 
And  how  I  envy  the  boys  whom  I  see  running  to  school 


FRIENDS  AMONG   THE  WORKINGMEN.          217 

with  their  books  when  my  father  carries  me  to  the 
window  !  But  I  shall  go  back  there  soon  myself.  I 
am  so  impatient  to  see  all  the  bo}-s  once  more,  and  my 
seat,  the  garden,  the  streets ;  to  know  all  that  has 
taken  place  during  the  interval ;  to  apply  myself  to  my 
books  again,  and  to  my  copy-books,  which  I  seem  not 
to  have  seen  for  a  year !  How  pale  and  thin  my  poor 
mother  has  grown  !  Poor  father  !  how  weary  he  looks  ! 
And  my  kind  companions  who  came  to  see  me  and 
walked  on  tiptoe  and  kissed  my  brow !  It  makes  me 
sad,  even  now,  to  think  that  one  day  we  must  part. 
Perhaps  I  shall  continue  my  studies  with  Derossi  and 
with  some  others  ;  but  how  about  all  the  rest  ?  When 
the  fourth  grade  is  once  finished,  then  good  by  !  we 
shall  never  see  each  other  again :  I  shall  never  see 
them  again  at  my  bedside  when  I  am  ill,  —  Garrone, 
Precossi,  Coretti,  who  are  such  fine  boys  and  kind  and 
dear  comrades,  —  never  more  ! 


FRIENDS  AMONG   THE   WORKINGMEN. 

Thursday,  20th. 

Why  "  never  more,"  Enrico  ?  That  will  depend  on  your- 
self. When  you  have  finished  the  fourth  grade,  you  will  go 
to  the  Gymnasium,  and  they  will  become  workingmen ;  but 
you  will  remain  in  the  same  city  for  many  years,  perhaps. 
Why,  then,  will  you  never  meet  again  ?  When  you  are  in  the 
University  or  the  Lyceum,  you  will  seek  them  out  in  their  shops 
or  their  workrooms,  and  it  will  be  a  great  pleasure  for  you 
to  meet  the  companions  of  your  youth  once  more,  as  men  at 
work. 

I  should  like  to  see  you  neglecting  to  look  up  Coretti  or 
Precossi,  wherever  they  may  be !  And  you  will  go  to  them, 
and  you  will  pass  hours  in  their  company,  and  you  will  see, 
when  you  come  to  study  life  and  the  world,  how  many  things 


218          FRIENDS  AMONG   THE  WORKINGMEN. 

you  can  learn  from  them,  which  no  one  else  is  capable  of 
teaching  you,  both  about  their  arts  and  their  society  and 
your  own  country.  And  have  a  care ;  for  if  you  do  not  pre- 
serve these  friendships,  it  will  be  extremely  difficult  for  you 
to  acquire  other  similar  ones  in  the  future,  —  friendships,  I 
mean  to  say,  outside  of  the  class  to  which  you  belong ;  and 
thus  you  will  live  in  one  class  only ;  and  the  man  who  asso- 
ciates with  but  one  social  class  is  like  the  student  who  reads 
but  one  book. 

Let  it  be  your  firm  resolve,  then,  from  this  day  forth,  that 
you  will  keep  these  good  friends  even  after  you  shall  be  sep- 
arated, and  from  this  time  forth,  cultivate  precisely  these  by 
preference  because  they  are  the  sons  of  workingmen.  You 
see,  men  of  the  upper  classes  are  the  officers,  and  men  of  the 
lower  classes  are  the  soldiers  of  toil ;  and  thus  in  society  as 
in  the  army,  not  only  is  the  soldier  no  less  noble  than  the 
officer,  since  nobility  consists  in  work  and  not  in  wages,  in 
valor  and  not  in  rank;  but  if  there  is  also  a  superiority  of 
merit,  it  is  on  the  side  of  the  soldier,  of  the  workmen,  who 
draw  the  lesser  profit  from  the  work.  Therefore  love  and 
respect  above  all  others,  among  your  companions,  the  sons 
of  the  soldiers  of  labor;  honor  in  them  the  toil  and  the 
sacrifices  of  their  parents ;  disregard  the  differences  of  for- 
tune and  of  class,  upon  which  the  base  alone  regulate  their 
sentiments  and  courtesy ;  reflect  that  from  the  veins  of 
laborers  in  the  shops  and  in  the  country  issued  nearly  all 
that  blessed  blood  which  has  redeemed  your  country ;  love 
Garrone,  love  Coretti,  love  Precossi,  love  your  little  mason, 
who,  in  their  little  workingmen's  breasts,  possess  the  hearts 
of  princes;  and  take  an  oath  to  yourself  that  no  change  of 
fortune  shall  ever  eradicate  these  friendships  of  childhood 
from  your  soul.  Swear  to  yourself  that  forty  years  hence,  if, 
while  passing  through  a  railway  station,  you  recognize  your 
old  Garrone  in  the  garments  of  an  engineer,  with  a  black 
face,  —  ah !  I  cannot  think  what  to  tell  you  to  swear.  I 
am  sure  that  you  will  jump  upon  the  engine  and  fling 
your  arms  round  his  neck,  though  you  were  even  a  senator 
of  the  kingdom.  THY  FATHER. 


GARRONI^S  MOTHER. 


GARRONE'S  MOTHER. 

Saturday,  29th. 

On  my  return  to  school,  the  first  thing  I  heard  was 
some  bad  news.  Garrone  had  not  been  there  for 
several  days  because  his  mother  was  seriously  ill. 
She  died  on  Saturday.  Yesterday  morning,  as  soon 
as  we  came  into  school,  the  teacher  said  to  us  :  — 

"The  greatest  misfortune  that  can  happen  to  a 
boy  has  happened  to  poor  Garrone :  his  mother  is 
dead.  He  will  return  to  school  to-morrow.  I  beseech 
you  now,  boys,  respect  the  terrible  sorrow  that  is 
now  rending  his  soul.  When  he  enters,  greet  him 
with  affection,  and  gravely  ;  let  no  one  jest,  let  no  one 
laugh  at  him,  I  beg  of  you." 

And  this  morning  poor  Garrone  came  in,  a  little 
later  than  the  rest ;  I  felt  a  blow  at  my  heart  at  the 
sight  of  him.  His  face  was  haggard,  his  eyes  were 
red,  and  he  was  unsteady  on  his  feet ;  it  seemed  as 
though  he  had  been  ill  for  a  month.  I  hardly  recog- 
nized him  ;  he  was  di'essed  all  in  black  ;  he  aroused 
our  pity.  No  one  even  breathed ;  all  gazed  at  him. 
No  sooner  had  he  entered  than  at  the  first  sight  of 
that  schoolroom  whither  his  mother  had  come  to  get 
him  nearly  every  day,  of  that  bench  over  which  she 
had  bent  on  so  many  examination  days  to  give  him 
a,  last  bit  of  advice,  and  where  he  had  so  many 
times  thought  of  her,  in  his  impatience  to  run  out  and 
meet  her,  he  burst  into  a  desperate  fit  of  weeping. 
The  teacher  drew  him  aside  to  his  own  place,  and 
pressed  him  to  his  breast,  and  said  to  him :  — 

"Weep,  weep,  my  poor  boy;  but  take  courage. 
Your  mother  is  no  longer  here ;  but  she  sees  you, 


220  GARRONE- S  MOTHER. 

she  still  loves  you,  she  still  lives  by  your  side,  and 
one  da}-  you  will  behold  her  once  again,  for  you  have 
a  good  and  upright  soul  like  her  own.  Take  courage  !  " 

Having  said  this,  he  accompanied  him  to  the  bench 
near  me.  I  dared  not  look  at  him.  He  drew  out  his 
copy-books  and  his  books,  which  he  had  not  opened  for 
many  da}-s,  and  as  he  opened  the  reading-book  at  a 
place  where  there  was  a  cut  representing  a  mother 
leading  her  son  by  the  hand,  he  burst  out  crying  again, 
and  laid  his  head  on  his  arm.  The  master  made  us  a 
sign  to  leave  him  thus,  and  began  the  lesson.  I  should 
have  liked  to  say  something  to  him,  but  I  did  not  know 
what.  I  laid  one  hand  on  his  arm,  and  whispered  in 
his  ear :  — 

"  Don't  cry,  Garrone." 

He  made  no  repby,  and  without  raising  his  head 
from  the  bench  he  laid  his  hand  on  mine  and  kept  it 
there  a  while.  At  the  close  of  school,  no  one  ad- 
dressed him ;  all  the  boys  hovered  round  him  respect- 
fully, and  in  silence.  I  saw  my  mother  waiting  for 
me,  and  ran  to  embrace  her ;  but  she  repulsed  me, 
and  gazed  at  Garrone.  For  the  moment  I  could  not 
understand  why  :  but  then  I  perceived  that  Garrone 
was  standing  apart  by  himself  and  gazing  at  me  ;  and 
he  was  gazing  at  me  with  a  look  of  indescribable 
sadness,  which  seemed  to  say:  "You  are  embracing 
your  mother,  and  I  shall  never  embrace  mine  again  ! 
You  have  still  a  mother,  and  mine  is  dead  !  "  And 
then  I  understood  why  my  mother  had  thrust  me  back, 
and  I  went  out  without  taking  her  hand. 


GIUSEPPE  MAZZINL  221 


GIUSEPPE  MAZZINI. 

Saturday,  29th. 

This  morning,  also,  Garrone  came  to  school  with  a 
pale  face  and  his  63-68  swollen  with  weeping,  and  he 
hardly  cast  a  glance  at  the  little  gifts  which  we  had 
placed  on  his  desk  to  console  him.  But  the  teacher 
had  brought  a  page  from  a  book  to  read  to  him  in 
order  to  encourage  him.  He  first  informed  us  that 
we  are  to  go  to-morrow  at  one  o'clock  to  the  town- 
hall  to  witness  the  award  of  the  medal  for  civic  valor 
to  a  boy  who  has  saved  a  little  child  from  the  Po, 
and  that  on  Monday  he  will  dictate  the  description 
of  the  festival  to  us  instead  of  the  monthly  story. 
Then  turning  to  Garrone,  who  was  standing  with 
drooping  head,  he  said  to  him  :  — 

"  Make  an  effort,  Garrone,  and  write  down  what  I 
dictate  to  you  as  well  as  the  rest." 

We  all  took  our  pens,  and  the  teacher  dictated. 

"  Giuseppe  Mazzini,  born  in  Genoa  in  1805,  died 
in  Pisa  in  1872,  a  grand,  patriotic  soul,  the  mind  of 
a  great  writer,  the  first  inspirer  and  apostle  of  the 
Italian  Revolution ;  who,  out  of  love  for  his  country, 
lived  for  fort}-  years  poor,  exiled,  persecuted,  a 
fugitive  heroically  steadfast  in  his  principles  and  in 
his  resolutions.  Giuseppe  Mazzini,  who  adored  his 
mother,  and  who  derived  from  her  all  that  there  was 
noblest  and  purest  in  her  strong  and  gentle  soul, 
wrote  as  follows  to  a  faithful  friend  of  his,  to  console 
him  in  the  greatest  of  misfortunes.  These  are  almost 
his  exact  words  :  — 

"'My   friend,    thou   wilt    never    more   behold   thy 


222  GIUSEPPE  MAZZINI. 

mother  on  this  earth.  That  is  the  terrible  truth.  I 
do  not  attempt  to  see  thee,  because  thine  is  one  of 
those  solemn  and  sacred  sorrows  which  each  must 
suffer  and  conquer  for  himself.  Dost  thou  understand 
what  I  mean  to  convey  by  these  words,  It  is  necessary 
to  conquer  sorrow  —  to  conquer  the  least  sacred,  the 
least  purifying  part  of  sorrow,  that  which,  instead 
of  rendering  the  soul  better,  weakens  and  debases  it? 
But  the  other  part  of  sorrow,  the  noble  part — that 
which  enlarges  and  elevates  the  soul  —  that  must 
remain  with  thee  and  never  leave  thee  more.  Nothing 
here  below  can  take  the  place  of  a  good  mother.  In 
the  griefs,  in  the  consolations  which  life  may  still 
bring  to  thee,  thou  wilt  never  forget  her.  But  thou 
must  recall  her,  love  her,  mourn  her  death,  in  a 
manner  which  is  worthy  of  her.  O  my  friend, 
hearken  to  me  !  Death  exists  not ;  it  is  nothing.  It 
cannot  even  be  understood.  Life  is  life,  and  it  fol- 
lows the  law  of  life  —  progress.  Yesterday  thou 
hadst  a  mother  on  earth  ;  to-day  thou  hast  an  angel 
elsewhere.  All  that  is  good  will  survive  the  life  of 
earth  with  increased  power.  Hence,  also,  the  love  of 
thy  mother.  She  loves  thee  now  more  than  ever. 
And  thou  art  responsible  for  thy  actions  to  her  more, 
even,  than  before.  It  depends  upon  thee,  upon  thy 
actions,  to  meet  her  once  more,  to  see  her  in  another 
existence.  Thou  must,  therefore,  out  of  love  and 
reverence  for  thy  mother,  grow  better  and  cause  her 
joy  for  thee.  Henceforth  thou  must  say  to  thyself 
at  every  act  of  thine,  "  Would  my  mother  approve 
this  ? "  Her  transformation  has  placed  a  guardian 
angel  in  the  world  for  thee,  to  whom  thou  must  refer 
in  all  thy  affairs,  in  everything  that  pertains  to  thee. 
Be  strong  and  brave ;  fight  against  desperate  and 


CIVIC   VALOR.  223 

vulgar  grief ;    have  the  tranquillity  of  great  suffering 
in  great  souls  ;  and  that  it  is  what  she  would  have.' " 

O  * 

"  Garrone,"  added  the  teacher,  "&e  strong  and  tran- 
quil, for  that  is  what  she  would  have.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Garrone  nodded  assent,  while  great  and  fast-flow- 
ing tears  streamed  over  his  hands,  his  copy-book,  and 
iris  desk. 


CIVIC   VALOR. 

(Monthly  Story.*) 

At  one  o'clock  we  went  with  our  schoolmaster  to 
the  front  of  the  town-hall,  to  see  the  medal  for  civic 
valor  bestowed  on  the  lad  who  saved  one  of  his  com- 
rades from  the  Po. 

On  the  front  terrace  waved  a  huge  tricolored  flag. 

We  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  palace. 

It  was  already  full  of  people.  At  the  further  end  of 
it  there  was  visible  a  table  with  a  red  cover,  and 
papers  on  it,  and  behind  it  a  row  of  gilded  chairs  for 
the  maj'or  and  the  council ;  the  ushers  of  the  munici- 
pality were  there,  with  their  under-waistcoats  of  sky- 
blue  and  their  white  stockings.  To  the  right  of  the 
courtyard  a  detachment  of  policemen,  who  had  a  great 
many  medals,  was  drawn  up  in  line  ;  and  beside  them 
a  detachment  of  custom-house  officers  ;  on  the  other 
side  were  the  firemen  in  festive  array  ;  and  numerous 
soldiers  not  in  line,  who  had  come  to  look  on, —  cavalry- 
men, sharpshooters,  artillery-men.  Then  all  around 
were  gentlemen,  country  people,  and  some  officers  and 
women  and  boys  who  had  assembled.  We  crowded 
into  a  corner  where  many  scholars  from  other  build- 


224  CIVIC   VALOR. 

ings  were  already  collected  with  their  teachers  ;  and 
near  us  was  a  group  of  boys  belonging  to  the  common 
people,  between  ten  and  eighteen  years  of  age,  who 
were  talking  and  laughing  loudly  ;  and  we  made  out 
that  they  were  all  from  Borgo  Po,  comrades  or  acquaint- 
ances of  the  boy  who  was  to  receive  the  medal. 
Above,  all  the  windows  were  thronged  with  the  employ- 
ees of  the  city  government ;  the  balcony  of  the  library 
was  also  filled  with  people,  who  pressed  against  the 
balustrade  ;  and  in  the  one  on  the  opposite  side,  which 
is  over  the  entrance  gate,  stood  a  crowd  of  girls  from 
the  public  schools,  and  many  DaugMers  of  military  men, 
with  their  pretty  blue  veils.  It  looked  like  a  theatre. 
All  were  talking  merrily,  glancing  every  now  and  then 
at  the  red  table,  to  see  whether  any  one  had  made  his 
appearance.  A  band  of  music  was  playing  softly  at 
the  extremitty  of  the  portico.  The  sun  beat  down  on 
the  lofty  walls.  It  was  beautiful. 

All  at  once  every  one  began  to  clap  their  hands, 
from  the  courtyard,  from  the  balconies,  from  the  win- 
dows. « 

I  raised  myself  on  tiptoe  to  look. 

The  crowd  which  stood  behind  the  red  table  had 
parted,  and  a  man  and  woman  had  come  forward.  The 
man  was  leading  a  boy  b}"  the  hand. 

This  was  the  lad  who  had  saved  his  comrade. 

The  man  was  his  father,  a  mason,  dressed  in  his 
best.  The  woman,  his  mother,  small  and  blond,  had 
on  a  black  gown.  The  boy,  also  small  and  blond,  had 
on  a  gray  jacket. 

At  the  sight  of  all  those  people,  and  at  the  sound  of 
that  thunder  of  applause,  all  three  stood  still,  not  dar- 
ing to  look  nor  to  move.  A  municipal  usher  pushed 
them  along  to  the  side  of  the  table  on  the  right. 


CIVIC   VALOR.  225 

All  remained  quiet  for  a  moment,  and  then  once 
more  the  applause  broke  out  on  all  sides.  The  boy 
glanced  up  at  the  windows,  and  then  at  the  balcony 
with  the  Daughters  of  military  men;  he  held  his  cap  in 
his  hand,  and  did  not  seem  to  understand  very  thor- 
oughly where  he  was.  It  struck  me  that  he  looked  a 
little  like  Coretti,  in  the  face;  but  he  was  redder.  His 
father  and  mother  kept  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  table. 

In  the  meantime,  all  the  boys  from  Borgo  Po  who 
were  near  us  were  making  motions  to  their  comrade, 
to  attract  his  attention,  and  hailing  him  in  a  low  tone  : 
Pin  !  Pin  !  Pinot !  By  dint  of  calling  they  made  them- 
selves heard.  The  boy  glanced  at  them,  and  hid  his 
smile  behind  his  cap. 

At  a  certain  moment  the  guards  put  themselves  in 
the  attitude  of  attention. 

The  mayor  entered,  accompanied  by  numerous  gen- 
tlemen. 

The  mayor,  all  white,  with  a  big  tricolored  scarf, 
placed  himself  beside  the  table,  standing  ;  all  the  others 
took  their  places  behind  and  beside  him. 

The  band  ceased  playing  ;  the  mayor  made  a  sign, 
and  every  one  kept  quiet. 

He  began  to  speak.  I  did  not  understand  the  first 
words  perfectly  ;  but  I  gathered  that  he  was  telling  the 
story  of  the  boy's  feat.  Then  he  raised  his  voice,  and 
it  rang  out  so  clear  and  sonorous  through  the  whole 
court,  that  I  did  not  lose  another  word :  "  When  he 
saw,  from  the  shore,  his  comrade  struggling  in  the 
river,  already  overcome  with  the  fear  of  death,  he  tore 
the  clothes  from  his  back,  and  hastened  to  his  assist- 
ance, without  hesitating  an  instant.  They  shouted  to 
him,  '  You  will  be  drowned  ! '  —  he  made  no  reply  ;  they 
caught  hold  of  him — he  freed  himself;  they  called  him 


226  CIVIC   VALOR. 

by  name  —  he  was  already  in  the  water.  The  river 
was  swollen  ;  the  risk  terrible,  even  for  a  man.  But  he 
flung  himself  to  meet  death  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
little  body  and  of  his  great  heart ;  he  reached  the  un- 
fortunate fellow  and  seized  him  just  in  time,  when  he 
was  already  under  water,  and  dragged  him  to  the  sur- 
face ;  he  fought  furiously  with  the  waves,  which  strove 
to  overwhelm  him,  with  his  companion  who  tried  to 
cling  to  him  ;  and  several  times  he  disappeared  beneath 
the  water,  and  rose  again  with  a  desperate  effort ;  ob- 
stinate, invincible  in  his  purpose,  not  like  a  boy  who 
was  trying  to  sav?  another  boy,  but  like  a  man,  like  a 
father  who  is  struggling  to  save  his  son,  who  is  his 
hope  and  his  life.  In  short,  God  did  not  permit  so 
generous  a  prowess  to  be  displayed  in  vain.  The 
child  swimmer  tore  the  victim  from  the  gigantic  river, 
and  brought  him  to  land,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
others,  rendered  him  his  first  succor ;  after  which  he 
returned  home  quietly  and  alone,  and  ingenuously  nar- 
rated his  deed. 

"  Gentlemen,  beautiful,  and  worthy  of  veneration  is 
heroism  in  a  man  !  But  in  a  child,  in  whom  there  can 
be  no  prompting  of  ambition  or  of  profit  whatever  ;  in  a 
child,  who  must  have  all  the  more  ardor  in  proportion 
as  he  has  less  strength  ;  in  a  child,  from  whom  we  re- 
quire nothing,  who  is  bound  to  nothing,  who  already 
appears  to  us  so  noble  and  lovable,  not  when  he  acts, 
but  when  he  merely  understands,  and  is  grateful  for  the 
sacrifices  of  others  ;  —  in  a  child,  heroism  is  divine  !  I 
will  say  nothing  more,  gentlemen.  I  do  not  care  to 
deck,  with  superfluous  praises,  such  simple  grandeur. 
Here  before  you  stands  the  noble  and  valorous  rescuer. 
Soldier,  greet  him  as  a  brother  ;  mothers,  bless  him  like 
a  son  ;  children,  remember  his  name,  engrave  on  your 


CIVIC   VALOR.  227 

minds  his  visage,  that  it  may  nevermore  be  erased  from 
your  memories  and  from  your  hearts.  Approach,  my 
boy.  In  the  name  of  the  king  of  Italy,  I  give  you  the 
medal  for  civic  valor." 

An  extremely  loud  hurrah,  uttered  at  the  same  mo- 
ment by  many  voices,  made  the  palace  ring. 

The  mayor  took  the  medal  from  the  table,  and  fas- 
tened it  on  the  boy's  breast.  Then  he  embraced  and 
kissed  him.  The  mother  placed  one  hand  over  her 
eyes  ;  the  father  held  his  chin  on  his  breast. 

The  mayor  shook  hands  with  both  ;  and  taking  the 
decree  of  decoration,  which  was  bound  with  a  ribbon, 
he  handed  it  to  the  woman. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  boy  again,  and  said:  "  Ma}- 
the  memory  of  this  day,  which  is  such  a  glorious  one 
for  you,  such  a  happy  one  for  your  father  and  mother, 
keep  you  all  your  life  in  the  path  of  virtue  and  honor ! 
Farewell!" 

The  mayor  withdrew,  the  band  struck  up,  and  every- 
thing seemed  to  be  at  an  end,  when  the  detachment  of 
firemen  opened,  and  a  lad  of  eight  or  nine  years, 
pushed  forwards  by  a  woman  who  instantly  concealed 
herself,  rushed  towards  the  boy  with  the  decoration, 
and  flung  himself  in  his  arms. 

Another  outburst  of  hurrahs  and  applause  made  the 
courtyard  echo ;  every  one  had  instantly  understood 
that  this  was  the  boy  who  had  been  saved  from  the  Po, 
and  who  had  come  to  thank  his  rescuer.  After  kissing 
him,  he  clung  to  one  arm,  in  order  to  accompany  him 
out.  These  two,  with  the  father  and  mother  following 
behind,  took  their  way  towards  the  door,  making  a 
path  with  difficulty  among  the  people  who  formed  in 
line  to  let  them  pass,  —  policemen,  boys,  soldiers, 
women,  all  mingled  together  in  confusion.  All  pressed 


228  CIVIC   VALOR. 

forwards  and  raised  on  tiptoe  to  see  the  boy.  Those 
who  stood  near  him  as  he  passed,  touched  his  hand. 
When  he  passed  before  the  schoolboys,  they  all  waved 
their  caps  in  the  air.  Those  from  Borgo  Po  made  a 
great  uproar,  pulling  him  by  the  arms  and  by  his  jacket 
and  shouting,  '•'•Pin!  hurrah  for  Pin!  bravo,  Pinot!" 
I  saw  him  pass  very  close  to  me.  His  face  was  all 
aflame  and  happj* ;  his  medal  had  a  red,  white,  and 
green  ribbon.  His  mother  was  crying  and  smiling  ; 
his  father  was  twirling  his  mustache  with  one  hand, 
which  trembled  violently,  as  though  he  had  a  fever. 
And  from  the  windows  and  the  balconies  the  people 
continued  to  lean  out  and  applaud.  All  at  once,  when 
the)'  were  on  the  point  of  entering  the  portico,  there 
descended  from  the  balcony  of  the  Daughters  of  mili- 
tary men  a  veritable  shower  of  pansies,  of  bunches  of 
violets  and  daisies,  which  fell  upon  the  head  of  the  boy, 
and  of  his  father  and  mother,  and  scattered  over  the 
ground.  Many  people  stooped  to  pick  them  up  and 
hand  them  to  the  mother.  And  the  band  at  the  further 
end  of  the  courtyard  played,  very,  very  softly,  a  most 
entrancing  air,  which  seemed  like  a  song  by  a  great 
many  silver}-  voices  fading  slowly  into  the  distance  on 
the  banks  of  a  river. 


CHILDREN   WITH    THE  RICKETS.  —  Page  229. 


CHILDREN  WITH  THE  RICKETS.  229 


MAY. 


CHILDREN   WITH   THE   RICKETS. 

Friday,  5th. 

TO-DAY  I  took  a  vacation,  because  I  was  not  well, 
and  my  mother  took  me  to  the  Institution  for  Chil- 
dren with  the  Rickets,  whither  she  went  to  recommend 
a  child  belonging  to  our  porter ;  but  she  did  not  allow 
me  to  go  into  the  school. 

You  did  not  understand,  Enrico,  why  I  did  not  permit  you 
to  enter  ?  In  order  not  to  place  before  the  eyes  of  those  unfor- 
tunates, there  in  the  midst  of  the  school,  as  though  on  exhibi- 
tion, a  healthy,  robust  boy :  they  have  already  but  too  many 
opportunities  for  making  melancholy  comparisons.  What 
a  sad  thing !  Tears  rushed  from  my  heart  when  I  entered. 
There  were  sixty  of  them,  boys  and  girls.  Poor  tortured 
bones !  Poor  hands,  poor  little  shrivelled  and  distorted  feet ! 
Poor  little  deformed  bodies !  I  instantly  perceived  many 
charming  faces,  with  eyes  full  of  intelligence  and  affection. 
There  was  one  little  child's  face  with  a  pointed  nose  and  a 
sharp  chin,  which  seemed  to  belong  to  an  old  woman ;  but 
it  wore  a  smile  of  celestial  sweetness.  Some,  viewed  from 
the  front,  are  handsome,  and  appear  to  be  without  defects ; 
but  when  they  turn  round  —  they  cast  a  weight  upon  your 
soul.  The  doctor  was  there,  visiting  them.  He  set  them 
upright  on  their  benches  and  pulled  up  their  little  garments, 
to  feel  their  little  swollen  stomachs  and  enlarged  joints ;  but 
they  felt  not  the  least  shame,  poor  creatures!  it  was  evident 


230  CHILDREN   WITH  THE  RICKETS. 

that  they  were  children  -who  were  used  to  being  undressed, 
examined,  turned  round  on  all  sides.  And  to  think  that 
they  are  now  in  the  best  stage  of  their  malady,  when  they 
hardly  suffer  at  all  any  more  !  But  who  can  say  what  they 
suffered  during  the  first  stage,  while  their  bodies  were  under- 
going the  process  of  deformation,  when  with  the  increase  of 
their  infirmity,  they  saw  affection  decrease  around  them, 
poor  children !  saw  themselves  left  alone  for  hour  after  hour 
in  a  corner  of  the  room  or  the  courtyard,  badly  nourished, 
and  at  times  scoffed  at,  or  tormented  for  mouths  by  ban- 
dages and  by  useless  orthopedic  apparatus  !  Now,  however, 
thanks  to  care  and  good  food  and  gymnastic  exercises,  many 
are  improving.  Their  schoolmistress  makes  them  practise 
gymnastics.  It  was  a  pitiful  sight  to  see  them,  at  a  certain 
command,  extend  all  those  bandaged  legs  under  the  benches, 
squeezed  as  they  were  between  splints,  knotty  and  deformed ; 
legs  which  should  have  been  covered  with  kisses!  Some 
could  not  rise  from  the  bench,  and  remained  there,  with 
their  heads  resting  on  their  arms,  caressing  their  crutches 
with  their  hands;  others,  on  making  the  thrust  with  their 
arms,  felt  their  breath  fail  them,  and  fell  back  on  their 
seats,  all  pale;  but  they  smiled  to  conceal  their  panting. 
Ah,  Enrico !  you  other  children  do  not  prize  your  good 
health,  and  it  seems  to  you  so  small  a  thing  to  be  well! 
I  thought  of  the  strong  and  thriving  lads,  whom  their 
mothers  carry  about  in  triumph,  proud  of  their  beauty;  and 
I  could  have  clasped  all  those  poor  little  heads,  I  could  have 
pressed  them  to  my  heart,  in  despair;  I  could  have  said, 
had  I  been  alone,  "  I  will  never  stir  from  here  again  ;  I  wish 
to  consecrate  my  life  to  you,  to  serve  you,  to  be  a  mother  to 
you  all,  to  my  last  day."  And  in  the  meantime,  they 
sang;  sang  in  peculiar,  thin,  sweet,  sad  voices,  which  pene- 
trated the  soul ;  and  when  their  teacher  praised  them,  they 
looked  happy ;  and  as  she  passed  among  the  benches,  they 
kissed  her  hands  and  wrists ;  for  they  are  very  grateful  for 
what  is  done  for  them,  and  very  affectionate.  And  these 
little  angels  have  good  minds,  and  study  well,  the  teacher 
told  me.  The  teacher  is  young  and  gentle,  with  a  face  full 


SACRIFICE.  231 

of  kindness,  a  certain  expression  of  sadness,  like  a  reflection 
of  the  misfortunes  which  she  caresses  and  comforts.  The 
dear  girl !  Among  all  the  human  creatures  who  earn  their 
livelihood  by  toil,  there  is  not  one  who  earns  it  more  holily 
than  thou,  my  daughter ! 

THY  MOTHER. 


SACRIFICE. 

Tuesday,  9th. 

My  mother  is  good,  and  my  sister  Silvia  is  like  her, 
and  has  a  large  and  noble  heartt  Yesterday  evening 
I  was  copying  a  part  of  the  monthly  story,  From  the 
Apennines  to  the  Andes,  —  which  the  teacher  has 
distributed  among  us  all  in  small  portions  to  copy, 
because  it  is  so  long,  — when  Silvia  entered  on  tiptoe, 
and  said  to  me  hastily,  and  in  a  low  voice  :  "Come 
to  mamma  with  me.  I  heard  them  talking  together  this 
morning :  some  affair  has  gone  wrong  with  papa,  and 
he  was  sad ;  mamma  was  encouraging  him :  we  are  in 
difficulties  —  do  you  understand?  We  have  no  more 
money.  Papa  said  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  make 
some  sacrifices  in  order  to  recover  himself.  Now  we 
must  make  sacrifices,  too,  must  we  not?  Are  3-011 
read}'  to  do  it?  Well,  I  will  speak  to  mamma,  and  do 
you  nod  assent,  and  promise  her  on  your  honor  that 
you  will  do  everything  that  I  shall  say." 

Having  said  this,  she  took  me  by  the  hand  and  Jed 
me  to  our  mother,  who  was  sewing,  absorbed  in 
thought.  I  sat  down  on  one  end  of  the  sofa,  Silvia 
on  the  other,  and  she  immediately  said :  — 

"Listen,  mamma,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 
Both  of  us  have  something  to  s&y  to  you."  Mamma 
stared  at  us  in  surprise,  and  Silvia  began  :  — 

"  Papa  has  no  money,  has  he?" 


232  SACRIFICE. 

"  What  are  you  saying  ?  "  replied  mamma,  turning 
crimson.  "Has  he  not  indeed!  What  do  you  know 
about  it  ?  Who  has  told  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Silvia,  resolutely.  "Well,  then, 
listen,  mamma ;  we  must  make  some  sacrifices,  too. 
You  promised  me  a  fan  at  the  end  of  May,  and  Enrico 
expected  his  box  of  paints  ;  we  don't  want  anything 
now  ;  we  don't  want  to  waste  a  soldo ;  we  shall  be 
just  as  well  pleased  —  you  understand?" 

Mamma  tried  to  speak;  but  Silvia  said:  "No;  it 
must  be  thus.  We  have  decided.  And  until  papa  has 
money  again,  we  don't  want  any  fruit  or  anything  else ; 
broth  will  be  enough  for  us,  and  we  will  eat  bread  in 
the  morning  for  breakfast :  thus  we  shall  spend  less 
on  the  table,  for  we  already  spend  too  much  ;  and  we 
promise  you  that  you  will  always  find  us  perfectly 
contented.  Is  it  not  so,  Eurico?  " 

I  replied  that  it  was.  "  Always  perfectly  con- 
tented," repeated  Silvia,  closing  mamma's  mouth  with 
one  hand.  "  And  if  there  are  any  other  sacrifices  to 
be  made,  either  in  the  matter  of  clothing  or  anything 
else,  we  will  make  them  gladly  ;  and  we  will  even  sell 
our  presents  ;  I  will  give  up  all  my  things,  I  will  serve 
you  as  your  maid,  we  will  not  have  anything  done  out 
of  the  house  any  more,  I  will  work  all  day  long  with 
you,  I  will  do  everything  you  wish,  I  am  read\-  for 
anything  !  For  anything  !  "  she  exclaimed,  throwing 
her  arms  around  my  mother's  neck,  ",  if  papa  and 
mamma  can  only  be  saved  further  troubles,  if  I  can 
only  behold  you  both  once  more  at  ease,  and  in  good 
spirits,  as  in  former  days,  between  your  Silvia  and 
your  Enrico,  who  love  you  so  dearly,  who  would  give 
their  lives  for  you  !  " 

Ah !  I  have  never  seen  my  mother  so  happy  as  she 


THE  FIRE.  233 

was  on  bearing  these  words ;  she  never  before  kissed 
us  on  the  brow  iu  that  way,  weeping  and  laughing,  and 
incapable  of  speech,  And  then  she  assured  Silvia  that 
she  had  not  understood  rightly  ;  that  we  were  not  in 
the  least  reduced  in  circumstances,  as  she  imagined  ; 
and  she  thanked  us  a  hundred  times,  and  was  cheerful 
all  the  evening,  until  my  father  came  in,  when  she  told 
him  all  about  it.  He  did  not  open  his  mouth,  poor 
father !  But  this  morning,  as  we  sat  at  the  table, 
I  felt  at  once  both  a  great  pleasure  and  a  great  sad- 
ness :  under  my  napkin  I  found  my  box  of  colors,  and 
under  hers,  Silvia  found  her  fan. 


THE  FIRE. 

Thursday,  llth. 

This  morning  I  had  finished  copying  my  share  of  the 
story,  From  the  Apennines  to  the  Andes,  and  was  seek- 
ing for  a  theme  for  the  independent  composition  which 
the  teacher  had  assigned  us  to  write,  when  I  heard  an 
unusual  talking  on  the  stairs,  and  shortly  after  two 
firemen  entered  the  house,  and  asked  permission  of  my 
father  to  inspect  the  stoves  and  chimneys,  because  a 
smoke-pipe  was  on  fire  on  the  roof,  and  they  could  not 
tell  to  whom  it  belonged. 

My  father  said,  "Pray  do  so."  And  although  we 
had  no  fire  burning  anywhere,  they  began  to  make  the 
round  of  our  apartments,  and  to  lay  their  ears  to  the 
walls,  to  hear  if  the  fire  was  roaring  in  the  flues  which 
run  up  to  the  other  floors  of  the  house. 

And  while  they  were  going  through  the  rooms,  my 
father  said  to  me,  "  Here  is  a  theme  for  your  compo- 
sition, Enrico,  — the  firemen.  Try  to  write  down  what 
I  am  about  to  tell  vou. 


234  THE  FIRE. 

"I  saw  them  at  work  two  years  ago,  one  evening, 
when  I  was  coming  out  of  the  Balbo  Theatre  late  at 
night.  On  entering  the  Via  Roma,  I  saw  an  unusual 
light,  and  a  crowd  of  people  collecting.  A  house  was 
on  fire.  Tongues  of  flame  and  clouds  of  smoke  were 
bursting  from  the  windows  and  the  roof ;  men  and 
women  appeared  at  the  windows  and  then  disappeared, 
uttering  shrieks  of  despair.  There  was  a  dense  throng 
in  front  of  the  door :  the  crowd  was  shouting  :  '  They 
will  be  burned  alive  !  Help  !  The  firemen  ! '  At  that 
moment  a  carriage  arrived,  four  firemen  sprang  out 
of  it  —  the  first  who  had  reached  the  town-hall  —  and 
rushed  into  the  house.  They  had  hardly  gone  in  when 
a  horrible  thing  happened :  a  woman  ran  to  a  window 
of  the  third  story,  with  a  yell,  clutched  the  balcony, 
climbed  down  it,  and  remained  suspended,  thus  cling- 
ing, almost  suspended  in  space,  with  her  back  out- 
wards, bending  beneath  the  flames,  which  flashed  out 
from  the  room  and  almost  licked  her  head.  The  crowd 
uttered  a  cry  of  horror.  The  firemen,  who  had  been 
stopped  on  the  second  floor  by  mistake  by  the  terrified 
lodgers,  had  already  broken  through  a  wall  and  pre- 
cipitated themselves  into  a  room,  when  a  hundred 
shouts  gave  them  warning  :  — 

'"On  the  third  floor  !  On  the  third  floor  ! ' 
"They  flew  to  the  third  floor.  There  there  was  an 
infernal  uproar,  —  beams  from  the  roof  crashing  in,  cor- 
ridors filled  with  a  suffocating  smoke.  In  order  to  reach 
the  rooms  where  the  lodgers  were  imprisoned,  there  was 
no  other  way  left  but  to  pass  over  the  roof.  They  in- 
stantly sprang  upon  it,  and  a  moment  later  something 
which  i-esembled  a  black  phantom  appeared  on  the  tiles, 
in  the  midst  of  the  smoke.  It  was  the  corporal,  who 
had  been  the  first  to  arrive.  But  in  order  to  get  from 


THE  FIRE.  235 

the  roof  to  the  small  set  of  rooms  cut  off  by  the  fire,  he 
was  forced  to  pass  over  an  extremely  narrow  space 
comprised  between  a  dormer  window  and  the  eaves- 
trough  :  all  the  rest  was  in  flames,  and  that  tiny  space 
was  covered  with  snow  and  ice,  and  there  was  no  place 
to  hold  on  to. 

"  '  It  is  impossible  for  him  to  pass  ! '  shouted  the 
crowd  below. 

"  The  corporal  advanced  along  the  edge  of  the  roof. 
All  shuddered,  and  began  to  observe  him  with  bated 
breath.  He  passed.  A  tremendous  hurrah  rose  towards 
heaven.  The  corporal  resumed  his  way,  and  on  ar- 
riving at  the  point  which  was  threatened,  he  began  to 
break  away,  with  furious  blows  of  his  axe,  beams,  tiles, 
and  rafters,  in  order  to  open  a  hole  through  which  he 
might  descend  within. 

"  In  the  meanwhile,  the  woman  was  still  suspended 
outside  the  window.  The  fire  raged  with  increased 
violence  over  her  head ;  another  moment,  and  she 
would  have  fallen  into  the  street. 

"The  hole  was  opened.  We  saw  the  corporal  pull 
off  his  shoulder-belt  and  lower  himself  inside :  the 
other  firemen,  who  had  arrived,  followed 

"  At  that  instant  a  very  lofty  Porta  ladder,  which 
had  just  arrived,  was  placed  against  the  entablature  of 
the  house,  m  front  of  the  windows  whence  issued  flames, 
and  howls,  as  of  maniacs.  But  it  seemed  as  though 
they  were  too  late. 

"  '  No  one  can  be  saved  now  ! '  they  shouted.  '  The 
firemen  are  burning  !  The  end  has  come  !  They  are 
dead !  ' 

"All  at  once  the  black  form  of  the  corporal  made 
its  appearance  at  the  window  with  the  balcony,  lighted 
up  by  the  flames  overhead.  The  woman  clasped  him 


236  THE  FIRE. 

round  the  neck  ;  he  caught  her  round  the  body  with  both 
arms,  drew  her  up,  and  laid  her  down  inside  the  room. 

"The  crowd  set  up  a  shout  a  thousand  voices  strong, 
which  rose  above  the  roar  of  the  conflagration. 

"  But  the  others?  And  how  were  they  to  get  down? 
The  ladder  which  leaned  against  the  roof  on  the  front 
of  another  window  was  at  a  good  distance  from  them. 
How  could  they  get  hold  of  it  ? 

"  While  the  people  were  saying  this  to  themselves,  one 
of  the  firemen  stepped  out  of  the  window,  set  his  right 
foot  on  the  window-sill  and  his  left  on  the  ladder,  and 
standing  thus  upright  in  the  air,  he  grasped  the  lodgers, 
one  after  the  other,  as  the  other  men  handed  them  to 
him  from  within,  passed  them  on  to  a  comrade,  who 
had  climbed  up  from  the  street,  and  who,  after  securing 
a  firm  grasp  for  them  on  the  rungs,  sent  them  down, 
one  after  the  other,  with  the  assistance  of  more  fire- 
men. 

"First  came  the  woman  of  the  balcony,  then  a  baby, 
then  another  woman,  then  an  old  man.  All  were  saved. 
After  the  old  man,  the  fireman  who  had  remained 
inside  descended.  The  last  to  come  down  was  the  cor- 
poral who  had  been  the  first  to  hasten  up.  The  crowd 
received  them  all  with  a  burst  of  applause  ;  but  when 
the  last  made  his  appearance,  the  vanguard  of  the 
rescuers,  the  one  who  had  faced  the  abyss  in  advance 
of  the  rest,  the  one  who  would  have  perished  had  it 
been  fated  that  one  should,  perish,  the  crowd  saluted 
him  like  a  conqueror,  shouting  and  stretching  out  their 
arms,  with  an  affectionate  impulse  of  admiration  and  of 
gratitude,  and  in  a  few  minutes  his  obscure  name — • 
Giuseppe  Robbino  —  rang  from  a  thousand  throats. 

"Have  you  understood?  That  is  courage  —  the 
courage  of  the  heart,  which  does  not  reason,  which 


FROM   THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES       237 

does  not  waver,  which  dashes  blindly  on,  like  a  light- 
ning flash,  wherever  it  hears  the  cry  of  a  dying  man. 
One  of  these  days  I  will  take  you  to  the  exercises  of 
the  firemen,  and  I  will  point  out  to  you  Corporal  Rob- 
bino  ;  for  you  would  be  very  glad  to  know  him,  would 
you  not?" 

I  replied  that  I  should. 

"  Here  he  is,"  said  my  father. 

I  turned  round  with  a  start.  The  two  firemen,  hav- 
ing completed  their  inspection,  were  traversing  the 
room  in  order  to  reach  the  door. 

My  father  pointed  to  the  smaller  of  the  men,  who 
had  straps  of  gold  braid,  and  said,  "  Shake  hands  with 
Corporal  Robbino." 

The  corporal  halted,  and  offered  me  his  hand ;  I 
pressed  it;  he  made  a  salute  and  withdrew. 

"  And  -bear  this  well  in  mind,"  said  my  father ;  "  for 
out  of  the  thousands  of  hands  which  you  will  shake  in 
the  course,  of  your  life  there  will  probably  not  be  ten 
which  possess  the  worth  of  his." 


FROM  THE   APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

(Monthly  Story.) 

Many  years  ago  a  Genoese  lad  of  thirteen,  the  son 
of  a  workingman,  went  from  Genoa  to  America  all 
alone  to  seek  his  mother. 

His  mother  had  gone  two  years  before  to  Buenos 

O  */ 

Ayres,  a  city,  the  capital  of  the  Argentine  Republic, 
to  take  service  in  a  wealthy  family,  and  to  thus  earn 
in  a  short  time  enough  to  place  her  family  once  more 
in  easy  circumstances,  they  having  fallen,  thr^-'.igh 


238       FROM  THE.  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES. 

various  misfortunes,  iuto  poverty  and  debt.  There  arc 
courageous  women  —  not  a  few  —  who  take  this  long 
voyage  with  this  object  in  view,  and  who,  thanks  tc 
the  large  wages  which  people  in  service  receive  there, 
return  home  at  the  end  of  a  few  years  with  several 
thousand  lire.  The  poor  mother  had  wept  tears  of 
blood  at  parting  from  her  children,  —  the  one  aged 
eighteen,  the  other,  eleven  ;  but  she  had  set  out  cour- 
ageously and  filled  with  hope. 

The  voyage  was  prosperous :  she  had  no  sooner 
arrived  at  Buenos  Ayres  than  she  found,  through  a 
Genoese  shopkeeper,  a  cousin  of  her  husband,  who 
had  been  established  there  for  a  very  long  time,  a  good 
Argentine  family,  which  gave  high  wages  and  treated 
her  well.  And  for  a  short  time  she  kept  up  a  regular 
correspondence  with  her  family.  As  it  had  been  set- 
tled between  them,  her  husband  addressed  his  letters 
to  his  cousin,  who  transmitted  them  to  the  woman, 
and  the  latter  handed  her  replies  to  him,  and  he  de- 
spatched them  to  Genoa,  adding  a  few  lines  of  his 
own.  As  she  was  earning  eighty  lire  a  month  and 
spending  nothing  for  herself,  she  sent  home  a  hand- 
some sum  every  three  months,  with  which  her  husband, 
who  was  a  man  of  honor,  gradually  paid  off  their  most 
urgent  debts,  and  thus  regained  his  good  reputation. 
And  in  the  meantime,  he  worked  away  and  was  satis- 
fied with  the  state  of  his  affairs,  since  he  also  cherished 
the  hope  that  his  wife  would  shortly  return  ;  for  the 
house  seemed  empty  without  her,  and  the  younger  sou 
in  particular,  who  was  extremely  attached  to  his 
mother,  was  very  much  depressed,  and  could  not  resign 
himself  to  having  her  so  far  away. 

But  a  year  had  elapsed  since  they  had  parted  ;  after 
a  brief  letter,  in  which  she  said  that  her  health  was  not 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       239 

very  good,  the}-  heard  nothing  more.  The}"  wrote  twice 
to  the  cousin  ;  the  cousin  did  not  reply.  They  wrote 
to  the  Argentine  family  where  the  woman  was  at  ser- 
vice ;  but  it  is  possible  that  the  letter  never  reached 
them,  for  they  had  distorted  the  name  in  addressing  it : 
they  received  no  answer.  Fearing  a  misfortune,  they 
wrote  to  the  Italian  Consulate  at  Buenos  Ayres  to  have 
inquiries  made,  and  after  a  lapse  of  three  months  they 
received  a  response  from  the  consul,  that  in  spite  of 
advertisements  in  the  newspapers  no  one  had  pre- 
sented herself  nor  sent  any  word.  And  it  could  not 
have  happened  otherwise,  for  this  reason  if  for  no 
other  :  that  with  the  idea  of  sparing  the  good  name  of 
her  family,  which  she  fancied  she  was  discrediting  by 
becoming  a  servant,  the  good  woman  had  not  given 
her  real  name  to  the  Argentine  family. 

Several  months  more  passed  by ;  no  news.  The 
father  and  sons  were  in  consternation ;  the  youngest 
was  oppressed  by  a  melancholy  which  he  could  not  con- 
quer. What  was  to  be  done  ?  To  whom  should  they 
have  recourse  ?  The  father's  first  thought  had  been  to 
set  out,  to  go  to  America  in  search  of  his  wife.  But 
his  work  ?  Who  would  support  his  sons  ?  And  neither 
could  the  eldest  son  go,  for  he  had  just  then  begun  to 
earn  something,  and  he  was  necessary  to  the  family. 
And  in  this  anxiety  they  lived,  repeating  each  day  the 
same  sad  speeches,  or  gazing  at  each  other  in  silence ; 
when,  one  evening,  Marco,  the  youngest,  declared  with 
decision,  "I  am  going  to  America  to  look  for  my 
mother." 

His  father  shook  his  head  sadly  and  made  no  reply. 
It  was  an  affectionate  thought,  but  an  impossible  thing. 
To  make  a  journey  to  America,  which  required  a  month, 
alone,  at  the  age  of  thirteen !  But  the  boy  patiently 


240       FROM   THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

insisted.  He  persisted  that  day,  the  day  after,  every 
day,  with  great  calmness,  reasoning  with  the  good 
sense  of  a  man.  "Others  have  gone  thither,"  he 
said;  "and  smaller  boys  than  I,  too.  Once  on  board 
the  ship,  I  shall  get  there  like  anybody  else.  Once 
arrived  there,  I  only  have  to  hunt  up  our  cousin's  shop. 
There  are  plenty  of  Italians  there  who  will  show  me 
the  street.  After  finding  our  cousin,  my  mother  is 
found  ;  and  if  I  do  not  find  him,  I  will  go  to  the  con- 
sul :  I  will  search  out  that  Argentine  family.  What- 
ever happens,  there  is  work  for  all  there  ;  I  shall  find 
work  also  ;  sufficient,  at  least,  to  earn  enough  to  get 
home."  And  thus  little  by  little  he  almost  succeeded 
in  persuading  his  father.  His  father  esteemed  him  ;  he 
knew  that  he  had  good  judgment  and  courage  ;  that  he 
was  inured  to  privations  and  to  sacrifices  ;  and  that  all 
these  good  qualities  had  acquired  double  force  in  his 
heart  in  consequence  of  the  sacred  project  of  finding 
his  mother,  whom  he  adored.  In  addition  to  this,  the 
captain  of  a  steamer,  the  friend  of  an  acquaintance  of 
his,  having  heard  the  plan  mentioned,  undertook  to 
procure  a  free  third-class  .passage  for  the  Argentine 
Republic. 

And  then,  after  a  little  hesitation,  the  father  gave 
his  consent.  The  voyage  was  decided  on.  They  filled 
a  sack  with  clothes  for  him,  put  a  few  crowns  in  hia 
pocket,  and  gave  him  the  address  of  the  cousin ;  and 
one  fine  evening  in  April  they  saw  him  on  board. 

"  Marco,  my  son,"  his  father  said  to  him,  as  he  gave 
him  his  last  kiss,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  on  the  steps  of 
the  steamer,  which  was  on  the  point  of  starting,  "take 
courage.  Thou  hast  set  out  on  a  holy  undertaking, 
and  God  will  aid  thee." 

Poor  Marco !     His  heart  was  strong  and  prepared 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       241 

for  the  hardest  trials  of  this  voyage  ;  but  when  he  be- 
held his  beautiful  Genoa  disappear  on  the  horizon,  and 
found  himself  on  the  open  sea  on  that  huge  steamer 
thronged  with  emigrating  peasants,  alone,  unacquainted 
with  any  one,  with  that  little  bag  which  held  his  entire 
fortune,  a  sudden  discouragement  assailed  him.  For 
two  days  he  remained  crouching  like  a  dog  on  the 
bows,  hardly  eating,  and  oppressed  with  a  great  desire 
to  weep.  Every  description  of  sad  thoughts  passed 
through  his  mind,  and  the  saddest,  the  most  terrible, 
was  the  one  which  was  the  most  persistent  in  its  re- 
turn, —  the  thought  that  his  mother  was  dead.  In  his 
broken  and  painful  slumbers  he  constantly  beheld  a 
strange  face,  which  surveyed  him  with  an  air  of  com- 
passion, and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "Your  mother  is 
dead  !  "  And  then  he  awoke,  stifling  a  shriek. 

Nevertheless,  after  passing  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar, 
at  the  first  sight  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean  he  recovered 
his  spirits  a  little,  and  his  hope.  But  it  was  only  a  brief 
respite.  That  vast  but  always  smooth  sea,  the  increas- 
ing heat,  the  misery  of  all  those  poor  people  who  sur- 
rounded him,  the  consciousness  of  his  own  solitude, 
overwhelmed  him  once  more.  The  empty  and  monoto- 
nous days  which  succeeded  each  other  became  con- 
founded in  his  memory,  as  is  the  case  with  sick  people. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  at  sea  a  year.  And 
every  morning,  on  waking,  he  felt  surprised  afresh  at 
finding  himself  there  alone  on  that  vast  watery  expanse, 
on  his  way  to  America.  The  beautiful  flying  fish  which 
fell  on  deck  every  now  and  then,  the  marvellous  sun- 
sets of  the  tropics,  with  their  enormous  clouds  colored 
like  flame  and  blood,  and  those  nocturnal  phospho- 
rescences which  make  the  ocean  seem  all  on  fire  like  a 
sea  of  lava,  did  not  produce  on  him  the  effect  of  real 


242       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO    THE  ANDES. 

things,  but  of  marvels  beheld  in  a  dream.  There  were 
days  of  bad  weather,  during  which  he  remained  con- 
stantly in  the  dormitory,  where  everything  was  rolling 
and  crashing,  in  the  midst  of  a  terrible  chorus  of  lamen- 
tations and  imprecations,  and  he  thought  that  his  last 
hour  had  come.  There  were  other  days,  when  the  sea 
was  calm  and  yellowish,  of  insupportable  heat,  of  infinite 
tediousness  ;  interminable  and  wretched  hours,  during 
which  the  enervated  passengers,  stretched  motionless 
on  the  planks,  seemed  all  dead.  And  the  voyage  was 
endless  :  sea  and  sky,  sky  and  sea ;  to-day  the  same 
as  yesterday,  to-morrow  like  to-day,  and  so  on,  always, 
eternally. 

And  for  long  hours  he  stood  leaning  on  the  bulwarks, 
gazing  at  that  interminable  sea  in  amazement,  thinking 
vaguely  of  his  mother,  until  his  eyes  closed  and  his 
head  was  drooping  with  sleep ;  and  then  again  he 
beheld  that  unknown  face  which  gazed  upon  him  with 
an  air  of  compassion,  and  repeated  in  his  ear,  "  Your 
mother  is  dead  !  "  and  at  the  sound  of  that  voice  he 
awoke  with  a  start,  to  resume  his  dreaming  with  wide- 
open  eyes,  and  to  gaze  at  the  unchanging  horizon. 

The  voyage  lasted  twenty-seven  days.  But  the  last 
days  were  the  best.  The  weather  was  fine,  and  the 
air  cool.  He  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  good  old 
man,  a  Lombard,  who  was  going  to  America  to  find  his 
son,  an  agriculturist  in  the  vicinity  of  the  town  of 
Rosario ;  he  had  told  him  his  whole  story,  and  the  old 
man  kept  repeating  evei\y  little  while,  as  he  tapped  him 
on  the  nape  of  the  neck  with  his  hand,  "  Courage,  my 
lad ;  you  will  find  your  mother  well  and  happy." 

This  companionship  comforted  him  ;  his  sad  present- 
iments were  turned  into  joyous  ones.  Seated  on  the 
bow,  beside  the  aged  peasant,  who  was  smoking  his 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       243 

pipe,  beneath  the  beautiful  starry  heaven,  in  the 
midst  of  a  group  of  singiug  peasants,  he  imagined  to 
himself  in  his  own  mind  a  hundred  times  his  arrival 
at  Buenos  Ayres  ;  he  saw  himself  in  a  certain  street ; 
he  found  the  shop,  he  flew  to  his  cousin.  "  How  is  my 
mother?  Come,  let  us  go  at  once!  Let  us  go  at 
once  ! "  They  hurried  on  together  ;  they  ascended  a 
staircase  ;  a  door  opened.  And  here  his  mute  solil- 
oquy came  to  an  end ;  his  imagination  was  swallowed 
up  in  a  feeling  of  inexpressible  tenderness,  which 
made  him  secretly  pull  forth  a  little  medal  that  he 
wore  on  his  neck,  and  murmur  his  prayers  as  he 
kissed  it. 

On  the  twenty-seventh  day  after  their  departure 
they  arrived.  It  was  a  beautiful,  rosy  May  morning, 
when  the  steamer  cast  anchor  in  the  immense  river  of 
the  Plata,  near  the  shore  along  which  stretches  the  vast 
city  of  Buenos  Ayres,  the  capital  of  the  Argentine  Re- 
public. This  splendid  weather  seemed  to  him  to  be  a 
good  augury.  He  was  beside  himself  with  jo}T  and  im- 
patience. His  mother  was  only  a  few  miles  from  him  ! 
In  a  few  hours  more  he  would  have  seen  her !  He  was 
in  America,  in  the  new  world,  and  he  had  had  the  dar- 
ing to  come  alone  !  The  whole  of  that  extremely  long 
voyage  now  seemed  to  him  to  have  passed  in  an  in- 
stant. It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  flown  hither  in  a 
dream,  and  that  he  had  that  moment  waked.  And  he 
was  so  happy,  that  he  hardly  experienced  any  surprise 
or  distress  when  he  felt  in  his  pockets  and  found  only 
one  of  the  two  little  heaps  into  which  he  had  divided 
his  little  treasure,  in  order  to  be  the  more  sure  of  not 
losing  the  whole  of  it.  He  had  been  robbed ;  he  had 
only  a  few  lire  left ;  but  what  mattered  that  to  him, 
when  he  was  near  his  mother?  With  his1  bag  in  his 


244       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

hand,  he  descended,  in  company  with  many  other  Ital- 
ians, to  the  tug-boat  which  carried  him  within  a  short 
distance  of  the  shore  ;  clambered  down  from  the  tug 
into  a  boat  which  bore  the  name  of  Andrea  Doria;  was 
landed  on  the  wharf  ;  saluted  his  old  Lombard  friend, 
and  directed  his  course,  in  long  strides,  towards  the 
city. 

On  arriving  at  the  entrance  of  the  first  street,  he 
stopped  a  man  who  was  passing  by,  and  begged  him  to 
show  him  in  what  direction  he  should  go  in  order  to 
reach  the  street  of  los  Artes.  He  chanced  to  have 
stopped  an  Italian  workingman.  The  latter  surveyed 
him  with  curiosity,  and  inquired  if  he  knew  how  to 
read.  The  lad  nodded,  "  Yes." 

'•  Well,  then,"  said  the  laborer,  pointing  to  the  street 
from  which  he  had  just  emerged,  "keep  straight  on 
through  there,  reading  the  names  of  all  the  streets  on 
the  corners ;  you  will  end  by  finding  the  one  you 
want." 

The  boy  thanked  him,  and  turned  into  the  street 
which  opened  before  him. 

It  was  a  straight  and  endless  but  narrow  street,  bor- 
dered by  low  white  houses,  which  looked  like  so  many 
little  villas,  filled  with  people,  with  carriages,  with 
carts  which  made  a  deafening  noise  ;  here  and  there 
floated  enormous  banners  of  various  hues,  with  an- 
nouncements as  to  the  departure  of  steamers  for  strange 
cities  inscribed  upon  them  in  large  letters.  At  every 
little  distance  along  the  street,  on  the  right  and  left,  he 
perceived  two  other  streets  which  ran  straight  away  as 
far  as  he  could  see,  also  bordered  by  low  white  houses, 
filled  with  people  and  vehicles,  and  bounded  at  their 
extremity  by  the  level  line  of  the  measureless  plains  of 
America,  like  the  horizon  at  sea.  The  city  seemed  in- 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       245 

finite  to  him ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  might  wander 
for  days  or  weeks,  seeing  other  streets  like  these,  on 
one  hand  and  on  the  other,  and  that  all  America  must 
be  covered  with  them.  He  looked  attentively  at  the 
names  of  the  streets  :  strange  names  which  cost  him  an 
effort  to  read.  At  every  fresh  street,  he  felt  his  heart 
beat,  at  the  thought  that  it  was  the  one  he  was  in  search 
of.  He  stared  at  all  the  women,  with  the  thought  that 
he  might  meet  his  mother.  He  caught  sight  of  one  in 
front  of  him  who  made  his  blood  leap ;  he  overtook 
her :  she  was  a  negro.  And  accelerating  his  pace,  he 
walked  on  and  on.  On  arriving  at  the  cross-street,  he 
read,  and  stood  as  though  rooted  to  the  sidewalk.  It 
was  the  street  del  los  Artes.  He  turned  into  it,  and  saw 
the  number  117;  his  cousin's  shop  was  No.  175.  He 
quickened  his  pace  still  more,  and  almost  ran  ;  at  No. 
171  he  had  to  pause  to  regain  his  breath.  And  he 
said  to  himself,  ' '  O  my  mother !  my  mother !  It  is 
really  true  that  I  shall  see  you  in  another  moment ! " 
He  ran  on ;  he  arrived  at  a  little  haberdasher's  shop. 
This  was  it.  He  stepped  up  close  to  it.  He  saw  a 
woman  with  gray  hair  and  spectacles. 

"  What  do  you  want,  boy?"  she  asked  him  in  Span- 
ish. 

"  Is  not  this,"  said  the  boy,  making  an  effort  to 
utter  a  sound,  "  the  shop  of  Francesco  Merelli?" 

"Francesco  Merelli  is  dead,"  replied  the  woman  in 
Italian. 

The  boy  felt  as  though  he  had  received  a  blow  on  his 
breast. 

"When  did  he  die?" 

"Eh?  quite  a  while  ago,"  replied  the  woman. 
"Months  ago.  His  affairs  were  in  a  bad  state,  and  he 
ran  away.  They  say  he  went  to  Bahia  Blanca,  very 


246       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

far  from  here.  And  he  died  just  after  he  reached 
there.  The  shop  is  mine." 

The  boy  turned  pale. 

Then  he  said  quickly,  "  Merelli  knew  my  mother ; 
m}-  mother  who  was  at  service  with  Signer  Mequinez. 
He  alone  could  tell  me  where  she  is.  I  have  come  to 
America  to  find  my  mother.  Merelli  sent  her  our  let- 
ters. I  must  find  my  mother." 

"  Poor  boy  !"  said  the  woman  ;  "I  don't  know.  I 
can  ask  the  boy  in  the  courtyard.  He  knew  the  young 
man  who  did  Merelli's  errands.  He  may  be  able  to 
tell  us  something." 

She  went  to  the  end  of  the  shop  and  called  the  lad, 
who  came  instantly.  "  Tell  me,"  asked  the  shop- 
woman,  "do  you  remember  whether  Merelli's  young 
man  went  occasionally  to  carry  letters  to  a  woman  in 
service,  in  the  house  of  the  son  of  the  country?  " 

"To  Signer  Mequinez,"  replied  the  lad;  "yes,  sig- 
nora,  sometimes  he  did.  At  the  end  of  the  street  del 
los  Artes" 

"Ah!  thanks,  signora!"  cried  Marco.  "Tell  me 
the  number ;  don't  you  know  it  ?  Send  some  one  with 
me  ;  come  with  me  instantly,  my  boy ;  I  have  still  a 
few  soldi." 

And  he  said  this  with  so  much  warmth,  that  without 
waiting  for  the  woman  to  request  him,  the  boy  replied, 
"  Come,"  and  at  once  set  out  at  a  rapid  pace. 

They  proceeded  almost  at  a  run,  without  uttering  a 
word,  to  the  end  of  the  extremely  long  street,  made 
their  way  into  the  entrance  of  a  little  white  house,  and 
halted  in  front  of  a  handsome  iron  gate,  through  which 
they  could  see  a  small  yard,  filled  with  vases  of  flowers. 
Marco  gave  a  tug  at  the  bell. 

A  young  lady  made  her  appearance. 


FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES.      247 

"The  Mequinez  family  lives  here,  does  it  not?f> 
demanded  the  lad'  anxiously. 

"They  did  live  here,"  replied  the  young  lady,  pro- 
nouncing her  Italian  in  Spanish  fashion.  "  Now  we, 
the  Zeballos,  live  here." 

"And  where  have  the  Mequinez  gone?"  asked 
Marco,  his  heart  palpitating. 

"  They  have  gone  to  Cordova." 

"Cordova!"  exclaimed  Marco.  "Where  is  Cor- 
dova? And  the  person  whom  the}'  had  in  their  ser- 
vice? The  woman,  my  mother!  Their  servant  was 
my  mother  !  Have  they  taken  my  mother  away,  too? " 

The  young  lady  looked  at  him  and  said  :  "I  do  not 
know.  Perhaps  my  father  may  know,  for  he  knew 
them  when  they  went  away.  Wait  a  moment." 

She  ran  away,  and  soon  returned  with  her  father, 
a  tall  gentleman,  with  a  gray  beard.  He  looked 
intently  for  a  minute  at  this  sympathetic  type  of  a 
little  Genoese  sailor,  with  his  golden  hair  and  his 
aquiline  nose,  and  asked  him  in  broken  Italian,  "  Is 
your  mother  a  Genoese  ?  " 

Marco  replied  that  she  was. 

"Well  then,  the  Genoese  maid  went  with  them; 
that  I  know  for  certain." 

"  And  where  have  they  gone?  " 

"  To  Cordova,  a  city." 

The  boy  gave  vent  to  a  sigh ;  then  he  said  with 
resignation,  "  Then  I  will  go  to  Cordova." 

"  Ah,  poor  child  !  "  exclaimed  the  gentleman  in 
Spanish;  "poor  boy!  Cordova  is  hundreds  of  miles 
from  here." 

Marco  turned  as  white  as  a  corpse,  and  clung  with 
one  hand  to  the  railings. 

"Let  us  see,  let  us  see,"  said  the  gentleman,  moved 


248       FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES. 

to  pity,  and  opening  the  door;  "come  inside  a 
moment ;  let  us  see  if  anything  can  be  done."  He 
sat  down,  gave  the  boy  a  seat,  and  made  him  tell  his 
stor}7,  listened  to  it  very  attentively,  meditated  a  little, 
then  said  resolutely,  "You  have  no  money,  have 
you?" 

"  I  still  have  some,  a  little,"  answered  Marco. 

The  gentleman  reflected  for  five  minutes  more  ;  then 
seated  himself  at  a  desk,  wrote  a  letter,  sealed  it,  and 
handing  it  to  the  boy,  he  said  to  him  :  — 

"  Listen  to  me,  little  Italian.  Take  this  letter  to 
Boca.  That  is  a  little  city  which  is  half  Genoese,  and 
lies  two  hours'  journey  from  here.  Any  one  will  be 
able  to  show  you  the  road.  Go  there  and  find  the 
gentleman  to  whom  this  letter  is  addressed,  and  whom 
every  one  knows.  Carry  the  letter  to  him.  He  will 
send  you  off  to  the  town  of  Rosario  to-morrow,  and 
will  recommend  you  to  some  one  there,  who  will  think 
out  a  way  of  enabling  you  to  pursue  your  journe}-  to 
Cordova,  where  you  will  find  the  Mequinez  family  and 
your  mother.  In  the  meanwhile,  take  this."  And  he 
placed  in  his  hand  a  few  lire.  "  Go,  and  keep  up  your 
courage ;  you  will  find  fellow-countrymen  of  yours  in 
every  direction,  and  you  will  not  be  desei'ted.  Adios!" 

The  boy  said,  "  Thanks,"  without  finding  any  other 
words  to  express  himself,  went  out  with  his  bag,  and 
having  taken  leave  of  his  little  guide,  he  set  out  slowly 
in  the  direction  of  Boca,  filled  with  sorrow  and  amaze- 
ment, across  that  great  and  noisy  town. 

Everything  that  happened  to  him  from  that  moment 
until  the  evening  of  that  day  ever  afterwards  lingered 
in  his  memory  in  a  confused  and  uncertain  form,  like 
the  wild  vagaries  of  a  person  in  a  fever,  so  weary  was 
he,  so  troubled,  so  despondent.  And  at  nightfall  on 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.      249 

the  following  day,  after  having  slept  over  night  in  a 
poor  little  chamber  in  a  house  in  Boca,  beside  a  harbor 
porter,  after  having  passed  nearly  the  whole  of  that 
day  seated  on  a  pile  of  beams,  and,  as  in  delirium,  in 
sight  of  thousands  of  ships  and  boats  and  tugs,  he 
found  himself  on  the  poop  of  a  large  sailing  vessel, 
loaded  with  fruit,  which  was  setting  out  for  the  town 
of  Rosario,  managed  by  three  robust  Genoese,  who 
were  bronzed  by  the  sun  ;  and  their  voices  and  the 
dialect  which  they  spoke  put  a  little  comfort  into  his 
heart  once  more. 

They  set  out,  and  the  voyage  lasted  three  days  and 
four  nights,  and  it  was  a  continual  amazement  to  the 
little  traveller.  Three  days  and  four  nights  on  that 
wonderful  river  Parana,  in  comparison  with  which 
our  great  Po  is  but  a  rivulet ;  and  the  length  of  Italy 
quadrupled  does  not  equal  that  of  its  course.  The 
barge  advanced  slowly  against  this  immeasurable  mass 
of  water.  It  threaded  its  way  among  long  islands, 
once  the  haunts  of  serpents  and  tigers,  covered  with 
orange-trees  and  willows,  like  floating  coppices  ;  now 
they  passed  through  narrow  canals,  from  which  it 
seemed  as  though  the}-  could  never  issue  forth ;  now 
they  sailed  out  on  vast  expanses  of  water,  having  the 
aspect  of  great  tranquil  lakes  ;  then  among  islands 
again,  through  the  intricate  channels  of  an  archipelago, 
amid  enormous  masses  of  vegetation.  A  profound 
silence  reigned.  For  long  stretches  the  shores  and 
very  vast  and  solitary  waters  produced  the  impression 
of  an  unknown  stream,  upon  which  this  poor  little  sail ' 
was  the  first  in  all  the  world  to  venture  itself.  The 
further  they  advanced,  the  more  this  monstrous  river 
dismayed  him.  He  imagined  that  his  mother  was  at 
its  source,  and  that  their  navigation  must  last  for 


250       FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO  THE  ANDES. 

years.  Twice  a  day  he  ate  a  little  bread  and  salted 
meat  with  the  boatmen,  who,  perceiving  that  he  was 
sad,  never  addressed  a  word  to  him.  At  night  he 
slept  on  deck  and  woke  every  little  while  with  a  start, 
astounded  by  the  limpid  light  of  the  moon,  which  sil- 
vered the  immense  expanse  of  water  and  the  distant 
shores  ;  and  then  his  heart  sank  within  him.  "  Cor- 
dova!"  He  repeated  that  name,  "Cordova!"  like 
the  name  of  one  of  those  mysterious  cities  of  which 
he  had  heard  in  fables.  But  then  he  thought,  "My 
mother  passed  this  spot ;  she  saw  these  islands,  these 
shores  ; "  and  then  these  places  upon  which  the  glance 
of  his  mother  had  fallen  no  longer  seemed  strange 
and  solitary  to  him.  At  night  one  of  the  boatmen 
sang.  That  voice  reminded  him  of  his  mother's  songs, 
when  she  had  lulled  him  to  sleep  as  a  little  child. 
On  the  last  night,  when  he  heard  that  song,  he  sobbed. 
The  boatman  interrupted  his  song.  Then  he  cried, 
"Courage,  courage,  my  son!  What  the  deuce!  A 
Genoese  crying  because  he  is  far  from  home !  The 
Genoese  make  the  circuit  of  the  world,  glorious  and 
triumphant !  " 

And  at  these  words  he  shook  himself,  he  heard  the 
voice  of  the  Genoese  blood,  and  he  raised  his  head 
aloft  with  pride,  dashing  his  fist  down  on  the  rudder. 
"Well,  yes,"  he  said  to  himself;  "and  if  I  am  also 
obliged  to  travel  for  years  and  years  to  come,  all  over 
the  world,  and  to  traverse  hundreds  of  miles  on  foot, 
I  will  go  on  until  I  find  nry  mother,  were  I  to  arrive  in 
'  a  dying  condition,  and  fall  dead  at  her  feet !  If  only 
I  can  see  her  once  again  !  Courage  !  "  And  with  this 
frame  of  mind  he  arrived  at  daybreak,  on  a  cool  and 
rosy  morning,  in  front  of  the  city  of  Rosario,  situated 
on  the  high  bank  of  the  Parana,  where  the  beflagged 


FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES.       251 

yards  of  a  hundred  vessels  of  every  land  were  mirrored 
in  the  waves. 

Shortly  after  landing,  he  went  to  the  town,  bag  in 
hand,  to  seek  an  Argentine  gentleman  for  whom  his 
protector  in  Boca  had  intrusted  him  with  a  visiting- 
card,  with  a  few  words  of  recommendation.  On 
entering  Rosario,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  coming 
into  a  city  with  which  he  was  already  familiar.  There 
were  the  straight,  interminable  streets,  bordered  with 
low  white  houses,  traversed  in  all  directions  above  the 
roofs  by  great  bundles  of  telegraph  and  telephone 
wires,  which  looked  like  enormous  spiders'  webs  ;  and 
a  gi'eat  confusion  of  people,  of  horses,  and  of  vehicles. 
His  head  grew  confused ;  he  almost  thought  that  he 
had  got  back  to  Buenos  Ayres,  and  must  hunt  up  his 
cousin  once  more.  He  wandered  about  for  nearly  an 
hour,  making  one  turn  after  another,  and  seeming 
alwa}'s  to  come  back  to  the  same  street ;  and  by  dint 
of  inquiring,  he  found  the  house  of  his  new  protector. 
He  pulled  the  bell.  There  came  to  the  door  a  big, 
light-haired,  gruff  man,  who  had  the  air  of  a  steward, 
and  who  demanded  awkwardl}",  with  a  foreign  ac- 
cent:— 

"  What  do  you  want?" 

The  boy  mentioned  the  name  of  his  patron. 

"  The  master  has  gone  away,"  replied  the  steward  ; 
"  he  set  out  37esterday  afternoon  for  Buenos  Ayres,  with 
his  whole  family." 

The  boy  was  left  speechless.  Then  he  stammered, 
"But  I  —  I  have  no  one  here  !  I  am  alone  !  "  and  he 
offered  the  card. 

The  steward  took  it,  read  it,  and  said  surlily  :  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  for  you.  I'll  give  it  to  him  when  he 
returns  a  month  hence." 


252       FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES. 

"  But  I,  I  am  alone  ;  I  am  in  need ! "  exclaimed  the 
lad,  in  a  supplicating  voice. 

"  Eh?  come  now,"  said  the  other  ;  "  just  as  though 
there  were  not  a  plenty  of  your  sort  from  your  country 
in  Rosario !  Be  off,  and  do  your  begging  in  Italy  !  " 
And  he  slammed  the  door  in  his  face. 

The  boy  stood  there  as  though  he  had  been  turned 
to  stone. 

Then  he  picked  up  his  bag  again  slowly,  and  went 
out,  his  heart  torn  with  anguish,  with  his  mind  in  a 
whirl,  assailed  all  at  once  by  a  thousand  anxious 
thoughts.  What  was  to  be  done?  Where  was  he  to 
go?  From  Rosario  to  Cordova  was  a  day's  journey,  by 
rail.  He  had  only  a  few  lire  left.  After  deducting  what 
he  should  be  obliged  to  spend  that  day,  he  would  have 
next  to  nothing  left,  Where  was  he  to  find  the  money 
to  pay  his  fare  ?  He  could  work  —  but  how  ?  To  whom 
should  he  apply  for  work ?  Ask  alms?  Ah,  no!  To 
be  repulsed,  insulted,  humiliated,  as  he  had  been  a  hitle 
while  ago  ?  No  ;  never,  never  more  —  rather  would  he 
die !  And  at  this  idea,  and  at  the  sight  of  the  very 
long  street  which  was  lost  in  the  distance  of  the  bound- 
less plain,  he  felt  his  courage  desert  him  once  more, 
flung  his  bag  on  the  sidewalk,  sat  down  with  his  back 
against  the  wall,  and  bent  his  head  between  his  hands, 
in  an  attitude  of  despair. 

People  jostled  him  with  their  feet  as  they  passed  ; 
the  vehicles  filled  the  road  with  noise  ;  several  boys 
stopped  to  look  at  him.  He  remained  thus  for  a  while. 
Then  he  was  startled  by  a  voice  saying  to  him  in  a 
mixture  of  Italian  and  Lombard  dialect,  "  What  is  the 
matter,  little  boy?" 

He  raised  his  face  at  these  words,  and  instantly 
sprang  to  his  feet,  uttering  an  exclamation  of  wonder  ; 
"  You  here  !  " 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO  THE  ANDES.       253 

It  was  the  old  Lombard  peasant  with  whom  he  had 
struck  up  a  friendship  during  the  voyage. 

The  amazement  of  the  peasant  was  no  loss  than  his 
own ;  but  the  boy  did  not  leave  him  time  to  question 
him,  and  he  rapidly  recounted  the  state  of  his  affairs. 

"  Now  I  am  without  a  soldo.  I  must  go  to  work. 
Find  me  work,  that  I  may  get  together  a  few  lire.  I 
will  do  anything ;  I  will  carry  rubbish,  I  will  sweep 
the  streets  ;  I  can  run  on  errands,  or  even  work  in  the 
country  ;  I  am  content  to  live  on  black  bread ;  but 
only  let  it  be  so  that  I  may  set  out  quickly,  that  I  may 
find  my  mother  once  more.  Do  me  this  charity,  and 
find  me  work,  find  me  work,  for  the  love  of  God,  for  I 
can  do  no  more  !  " 

l'The  deuce  !  the  deuce  !  "  said  the  peasant,  looking 
about  him,  and  scratching  his  chin.  "  What  a  story 
is  this  !  To  work,  to  work  !  —  that  is  soon  said.  Let 
us  look  about  a  little.  Is  there  no  way  of  finding  thirty 
lire  among  so  many  fellow-countrymen?  " 

The  boy  looked  at  him,  consoled  by  a  ray  of  hope. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  peasant. 

"Where?"  asked  the  lad,  gathering  up  his  bag 
again. 

"  Come  with  me." 

The  peasant  started  on ;  Marco  followed  him.  They 
traversed  a  long  stretch  of  street  together  without 
speaking.  The  peasant  halted  at  the  door  of  an  inn 
which  had  for  its  sign  a  star,  and  an  inscription  be- 
neath, The  Star  of  Italy.  He  thrust  his  face  in,  and 
turning  to  the  boy,  he  said  cheerfully,  "  We  have 
arrived  at  just  the  right  moment." 

They  entered  a  large  room,  where  there  were  numer- 
ous tables,  and  many  men  seated,  drinking  and  talking 
loudly.  The  old  Lombard  approached  the  first  table, 


254       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

and  from  the  manner  in  which  he  saluted  the  six  guests 
who  were  gathered  around  it,  it  was  evident  that  he 
had  been  in  their  company  until  a  short  time  previously. 
They  were  red  in  the  face,  and  were  clinking  their 
glasses,  and  vociferating  and  laughing. 

"  Comrades,"  said  the  Lombard,  without  any  pref- 
ace, remaining  on  his  feet,  and  presenting  Marco, 
"  here  is  a  poor  lad,  our  fellow-countryman,  who  has 
come  alone  from  Genoa  to  Buenos  Ayres  to  seek  his 
mother.  At  Buenos  Ayres  they  told  him,  '  She  ia 
not  here ;  she  is  in  Cordova.'  He  came  in  a  bark  tc 
Rosario,  three  days  and  three  nights  on  the  way,  with 
a  couple  of  lines  of  recommendation.  He  presents  th« 
card  ;  they  make  an  ugly  face  at  him  :  he  hasn't  i 
centesimo  to  bless  himself  with.  He  is  here  alone  and 
in  despair.  He  is  a  lad  full  of  heart.  Let  us  see  »», 
bit.  Can't  we  find  enough  to  pay  for  his  ticket  to  go 
to  Cordova  in  search  of  his  mother  ?  Are  we  to  leav* 
him  here  like  a  dog?" 

"  Never  in  the  world,  by  Heavens  !  That  shall  never 
be  said  ! "  they  all  shouted  at  once,  hammering  on  the 
table  with  their  fists.  "  A  fellow-countryman  of  ours  ! 
Come  hither,  little  fellow  !  We  are  emigrants !  See 
what  a  handsome  young  rogue  !  Out  with  your  cop- 
pers, comrades  !  Bravo  !  Come  alone  !  He  has  dar- 
ing !  Drink  a  sup,  patriotta  !  We'll  send  }7ou  to  your 
mother ;  never  fear !  "  And  one  pinched  his  cheek, 
another  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  a  third  relieved 
him  of  his  bag ;  other  emigrants  rose  from  the  neigh- 
boring tables,  and  gathered  about ;  the  boy's  story 
made  the  round  of  the  inn  ;  three  Argentine  guests  hur- 
ried in  from  the  adjoining  room  ;  and  in  less  than  ten 
minutes  the  Lombard  peasant,  who  was  passing  round 
the  hat,  had  collected  forty -two  lire. 


FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES.       255 

"  Do  you  see,"  he  then  said,  turning  to  the  boy, 
"  how  fast  things  are  done  in  America?" 

"  Drink  !  "  cried  another  to  him,  offering  him  a  glass 
of  wine  ;  "  to  the  health  of  your  mother  !  " 

All  raised  their  glasses,  and  Marco  repeated,  "To 
the  health  of  my — "  But  a  sob  of  joy  choked  him, 
and,  setting  the  glass  on  the  table,  he  flung  himself  on 
the  old  man's  neck. 

At  daybreak  on  the  following  morning  he  set  out  for 
Cordova,  ardent  and  smiling,  filled  with  presentiments 
of  happiness.  But  there  is  no  cheerfulness  that  rules 
for  long  in  the  face  of  certain  sinister  aspects  of 
nature.  The  weather  was  close  and  dull ;  the  train, 
which  was  nearly  empty,  ran  through  an  immense 
plain,  destitute  of  every  sign  of  habitation.  He  found 
himself  alone  in  a  very  long  car,  which  resembled 
those  on  trains  for  the  wounded.  He  gazed  to  the 
right,  he  gazed  to  the  left,  and  he  saw  nothing  but 
an  endless  solitude,  strewn  with  tiny,  deformed  trees, 
with  contorted  trunks  and  branches,  in  attitudes  such 
as  were  never  seen  before,  almost  of  wrath  and 
anguish,  and  a  sparse  and  melancholy  vegetation, 
which  gave  to  the  plain  the  aspect  of  a  ruined  cem- 
etery. 

He  dozed  for  half  an  hour  ;  then  resumed  his  survey  : 
the  spectacle  was  still  the  same.  The  railway  stations 
were  deserted,  like  the  dwellings  of  hermits ;  and 
when  the  train  stopped,  not  a  sound  was  heard ;  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  alone  in  a  lost  train, 
abandoned  in  the  middle  of  a  desert.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  though  each  station  must  be  the  last,  and  that 
he  should  then  enter  the  mysterious  regions  of  the 
savages.  An  icy  breeze  nipped  his  face.  On  em- 
barking at  Genoa,  towards  the  end  of  April,  it  had 


256       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

not  occurred  to  him  that  he  should  find  winter  in 
America,  and  he  was  dressed  for  summer. 

After  several  hours  of  this  he  began  to  suffer  from 
cold,  and  in  connection  with  the  cold,  from  the  fatigue 
of  the  days  he  had  recently  passed  through,  filled  as 
they  had  been  with  violent  emotions,  and  from  sleep- 
less and  harassing  nights.  He  fell  asleep,  slept  a 
long  time,  and  awoke  benumbed ;  he  felt  ill.  Then 
a  vague  terror  of  falling  ill,  of  dying  on  the  journey, 
seized  upon  him ;  a  fear  of  being  thrown  out  there, 
in  the  middle  of  that  desolate  prairie,  where  his  body 
would  be  torn  in  pieces  by  dogs  and  birds  of  prey, 
like  the  corpses  of  horses  and  cows  which  he  had 
caught  sight  of  every  now  and  then  beside  the  track, 
and  from  which  he  had  turned  aside  his  eyes  in  dis- 
gust. In  this  state  of  anxious  illness,  in  the  midst  of 
that  dark  silence  of  nature,  his  imagination  grew 
excited,  and  looked  on  the  dark  side  of  things. 

Was  he  quite  sure,  after  all,  that  he  should  find  his 
mother  at  Cordova?  And  what  if  she  had  not  gone 
there  ?  What  if  that  gentleman  in  the  Via  del  los  Artes 
had  made  a  mistake  ?  And  what  if  she  were  dead  ?  Thus 
meditating,  he  fell  asleep  again,  and  dreamed  that  he  was 
in  Cordova,  and  it  was  night,  and  that  he  heard  cries 
from  all  the  doors  and  all  the  windows  :  "  She  is  not 
here !  She  is  not  here !  She  is  not  here !  "  This 
roused  him  with  a  start,  in  terror,  and  he  saw  at  the 
other  end  of  the  car  three  bearded  men  enveloped  in 
shawls  of  various  colors  who  were  staring  at  him  and 
talking  together  in  a  low  tone ;  and  the  suspicion 
flashed  across  him  that  they  were  assassins,  and  that 
they  wanted  to  kill  him  for  the  sake  of  stealing  his 
bag.  Fear  was  added  to  his  consciousness  of  illness 
and  to  the  cold ;  his  fancy,  already  perturbed,  became 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       257 

distorted :  the  three  men  kept  on  staring  at  him ; 
one  of  them  moved  towards  him  ;  then  his  reason  wan- 
dered, and  rushing  towards  him  with  arms  wide  open, 
he  shrieked,  "  I  have  nothing ;  I  am  a  poor  boy  ;  I 
have  come  from  Italy  ;  I  am  in  quest  of  my  mother  ;  I 
am  alone  :  do  not  do  me  any  harm  !  " 

The}'  instantly  understood  the  situation ;  they  took 
compassion  on  him,  caressed  and  soothed  him,  speak- 
ing to  him  many  words  which  he  did  not  hear  nor  com- 
prehend ;  and  perceiving  that  his  teeth  were  chatter- 
ing with  cold,  they  wrapped  one  of  their  shawls  around 
him,  and  made  him  sit  down  again,  so  that  he  might 
go  to  sleep.  And  he  did  fall  asleep  once  more,  when 
the  twilight  was  descending.  When  they  aroused  him, 
he  was  at  Cordova. 

Ah,  what  a  deep  breath  he  drew,  and  with  what 
impetuosity  he  flew  from  the  car !  He  inquired  of 
one  of  the  station  employees  where  the  house  of  the 
engineer  Mequinez  was  situated ;  the  latter  mentioned 
the  name  of  a  church  ;  it  stood  beside  the  church  :  the 
boy  hastened  away. 

It  was  night.  He  entered  the  city,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  entering  Rosario  once  more  ;  that  he 
again  beheld  those  straight  streets,  flanked  with  little 
white  houses,  and  intersected  by  other  very  long  and 
straight  streets.  But  there  were  very  few  people,  and 
under  the  light  of  the  rare  street  lanterns,  he  en- 
countered strange  faces  of  a  hue  unknown  to  him, 
between  black  and  greenish ;  and  raising  his  head  from 
time  to  time,  he  beheld  churches  of  bizarre  architecture 
which  were  outlined  black  and  vast  against  the  sky. 
The  city  was  dark  and  silent,  but  after  having  trav- 
ersed that  immense  desert,  it  appeared  lively  to  him. 
He  inquired  his  way  of  a  priest,  speedily  found  the 


258       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

church  and  the  house,  pulled  the  bell  with  one  trem- 
bling hand,  and  pressed  the  other  on  his  breast  to  re- 
press the  beating  of  his  heart,  which  was  leaping  into 
his  throat. 

An  old  woman,  with  a  light  in  her  hand,  opened  the 
door. 

The  boy  could  not  speak  at  once. 

"Whom  do  you  want?"  demanded  the  dame  in 
Spanish. 

"The  engineer  Mequinez,"  replied  Marco. 

The  old  woman  made  a  motion  to  cross  her  arms  on 
her  breast,  and  replied,  with  a  shake  of  the  head  :  "  So 
you,  too,  have  dealings  with  the  engineer  Mequinez  ! 
It  strikes  me  that  it  is  time  to  stop  this.  We  have 
been  worried  for  the  last  three  months.  It  is  not 
enough  that  the  newspapers  have  said  it.  We  shall 
have  to  have  it  printed  on  the  corner  of  the  street,  that 
Signor  Mequinez  has  gone  to  live  at  Tucuman ! " 

The  boy  gave  way  to  a  gesture  of  despair.  Then  he 
gave  way  to  an  outburst  of  passion. 

"  So  there  is  a  curse  upon  me  !  I  am  doomed  to  die 
on  the  road,  without  having  found  my  mother !  I  shall 
go  mad  !  I  shall  kill  myself !  My  God  !  what  is  the 
name  of  that  country?  Where  is  it?  At  what  dis- 
tance is  it  situated  ?  " 

"  Eh,  poor  boy,"  replied  the  old  woman,  moved  to 
pity;  "a  mere  trifle!  We  are  four  or  five  hundred 
miles  from  there,  at  least." 

The  boy  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  ;  then  he 
asked  with  a  sob,  "  And  now  what  am  I  to  do ! " 

"What  am  I  to  say  to  you,  my  poor  child?"  re- 
sponded the  dame  :  "  I  don't  know." 

But  suddenly  an  idea  struck  her,  and  she  added  has- 
tily :  "  Listen,  now  that  I  think  of  it.  There  is  one 


FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES.       259 

thing  that  you  can  do.  Go  down  this  street,  to  the 
right,  and  at  the  third  house  you  will  find  a  courtyard ; 
there  there  is  a  capataz,  a  trader,  who  is  setting  out  to- 
morrow for  Tucuman,  with  his  wagons  and  his  oxen. 
Go  and  see  if  he  will  take  you,  and  offer  him  your  ser- 
vices ;  perhaps  he  will  give  you  a  place  on  his  wagons  : 
go  at  once." 

The  lad  grasped  his  bag,  thanked  her  as  he  ran,  and 
two  minutes  later  found  himself  in  a  vast  courtyard, 
lighted  by  lanterns,  where  a  number  of  men  were 
engaged  in  loading  sacks  of  grain  on  certain  enormous 
carts  which  resembled  the  movable  houses  of  mounte- 
banks, with  rounded  tops,  and  veiy  tall  wheels ;  and  a 
tall  man  with  mustaches,  enveloped  in  a  sort  of  mantle 
of  black  and  white  check,  and  with  big  boots,  was  direct- 
ing the  work. 

The  lad  approached  this  man,  and  timidly  proffered 
his  request,  saying  that  he  had  come  from  Italy,  a.nd 
that  he  was  in  search  of  his  mother. 

The  capataz,  which  signifies  the  head  (the  head 
conductor  of  this  convoy  of  wagons),  surveyed  him 
from  head  to  foot  with  a  keen  glance,  and  replied  drily, 
"  I  have  no  place." 

"  I  have  fifteen  lire,"  answered  the  boy  in  a  suppli- 
cating tone  ;  "  I  will  give  you  my  fifteen  lire.  I  will 
work  on  the  journey  ;  I  will  fetch  the  water  and  fodder 
for  the  animals ;  I  will  perform  all  sorts  of  services. 
A  little  bread  will  suffice  for  me.  Make  a  little  place 
for  me,  signer." 

The  capataz  looked  him  over  again,  and  replied  with 
a  better  grace,  "There  is  no  room;  and  then,  we  are 
not  going  to  Tucuman  ;  we  are  going  to  another  town, 
Santiago  dell'  Estero.  We  shall  have  to  leave  you  at 


260       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

a  certain  point,  and  you  will  still  have  a  long  way  to 
go  on  foot." 

"Ah,  I  will  make  twice  as  long  a  journey!"  ex- 
claimed Marco  ;  "  I  can  walk  ;  do  not  worry  about  that ; 
I  shall  get  there  by  some  means  or  other  :  make  a  little 
room  for  me,  signer,  out  of  charity ;  for  pity's  sake, 
do  not  leave  me  here  alone  !  " 

"  Beware  ;  it  is  a  journey  of  twenty  days.'* 

"  It  matters  nothing  to  me." 

"  It  is  a  hard  journey." 

"  I  will  endure  everything." 

"  You  will  have  to  travel  alone." 

"  I  fear  nothing,  if  I  can  only  find  my  mother. 
Have  compassion  !  " 

The  capataz  drew  his  face  close  to  a  lantern,  and 
scrutinized  him.  Then  he  said,  "  Very  well." 

The  lad  kissed  his  hand. 

"  You  shall  sleep  in  one  of  the  wagons  to-night," 
added  the  capataz,  as  he  quitted  him ;  "  to-morrow 
morning,  at  four  o'clock,  I  will  wake  you.  Good 
night." 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  by  the  light  of  the 
stars,  the  long  string  of  wagons  was  set  in  motion 
with  a  great  noise  ;  each  cart  was  drawn  by  six  oxen, 
and  all  were  followed  by  a  great  number  of  spare  ani- 
mals for  a  change. 

The  boy,  who  had  been  awakened  and  placed  in  one 
of  the  carts,  on  the  sacks,  instantly  fell  again  into  a 
deep  sleep.  When  he  awoke,  the  convoy  had  halted 
in  a  solitary  spot,  full  in  the  sun,  and  all  the  men  —  the 
peones  —  were  seated  round  a  quarter  of  calf,  which 
was  roasting  in  the  open  air,  beside  a  large  fire,  which 
was  flickering  in  the  wind.  They  all  ate  together,  took 
a  nap,  and  then  set  out  again ;  and  thus  the  journey 


:HE  STOOD  WATCHING  THE  CONVOY  UNTIL  IT  WAS  LOST  TO  SIGHT.  '—Page  263. 


FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES.       261 

continued,  regulated  like  a  march  of  soldiers.  Every 
morning  the}7  set  out  on  the  road  at  five  o'clock,  halt- 
ed at  nine,  set  out  again  at  five  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
and  halted  again  at  ten.  The  peones  rode  on  horse- 
back, and  stimulated  the  oxen  with  long  goads.  The 
boy  lighted  the  fire  for  the  roasting,  gave  the  beasts 
their  fodder,  polished  up  the  lanterns,  and  brought 
water  for  drinking. 

The  landscape  passed  before  him  like  an  indistinct 
vision  :  vast  groves  of  little  brown  trees  ;  villages  con- 
sisting of  a  few  scattered  houses,  with  red  and  battle- 
mented  fa9ades ;  very  vast  tracts,  possibly  the  ancient 
beds  of  great  salt  lakes,  which  gleamed  white  with  salt 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  ;  and  on  every  hand,  and 
always,  the  prairie,  solitude,  silence.  On  very  rare 
occasions  they  encountered  two  or  three  travellers  on 
horseback,  followed  by  a  herd  of  picked  horses,  who 
passed  them  at  a  gallop,  like  a  whirlwind.  The  days 
were  all  alike,  as  at  sea,  wearisome  and  interminable ; 
but  the  weather  was  fine.  But  the  peones  became  more 
and  more  exacting  every  da}',  as  though  the  lad  were 
their  bond  slave  ;  some  of  them  treated  him  brutally, 
with  threats ;  all  forced  him  to  serve  them  without 
mercy  :  they  made  him  carry  enormous  bundles  of  for- 
age ;  they  sent  him  to  get  water  at  great  distances ; 
and  he,  broken  with  fatigue,  could  not  even  sleep  at 
night,  continually  tossed  about  as  he  was  by  the  violent 
jolts  of  the  wagon,  and  the  deafening  groaning  of  the 
wheels  and  wooden  axles.  And  in  addition  to  this,  the 
wind  having  risen,  a  fine,  reddish,  greasy  dust,  which 
enveloped  everything,  penetrated  the  wagon,  made  its 
way  under  the  covers,  filled  his  eyes  and  mouth,  robbed 
him  of  sight  and  breath,  constantly,  oppressively,  in- 
supportably.  "Worn  out  with  toil  and  lack  of  sleep. 


262       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

reduced  to  rags  and  dirt,  reproached  and  ill  treated 
from  morning  till  night,  the  poor  boy  grew  every  day 
more  dejected,  and  would  have  lost  heart  entirely  if  the 
capataz  had  not  addressed  a  kind  word  to  him  now  and 
then.  He  often  wept,  unseen,  in  a  corner  of  the  wagon, 
with  his  face  against  his  bag,  which  no  longer  contained 
anything  but  rags.  Ever}7  morning  he  rose  weaker  and 
more  discouraged,  and  as  he  looked  out  over  the  coun- 
try, and  beheld  always  the  same  boundless  and  impla- 
cable plain,  like  a  terrestrial  ocean,  he  said  to  himself: 
"Ah,  I  shall  not  hold  out  until  to-night!  I  shall  not 
hold  out  until  to-night !  To-day  I  shall  die  on  the 
road  !  "  And  his  toil  increased,  his  ill  treatment  was 
redoubled.  One  morning,  in  the  absence  of  the  capa- 
taz ,  one  of  the  men  struck  him,  because  he  had  delayed 
in  fetching  the  water.  And  then  they  all  began  to  take 
turns  at  it,  when  they  gave  him  an  order,  dealing  him 
a  kick,  saying:  "Take  that,  you  vagabond!  Carry 
that  to  your  mother  !  " 

His  heart  was  breaking.  He  fell  ill ;  for  three  days 
he  remained  in  the  wagon,  with  a  coverlet  over  him, 
fighting  a  fever,  and  seeing  no  one  except  the  capataz, 
who  came  to  give  him  his  drink  and  feel  his  pulse. 
And  then  he  believed  that  he  was  lost,  and  invoked  his 
mother  in  despair,  calling  her  a  hundred  times  by  name  : 
"O  my  mother!  my  mother!  Help  me!  Come  to 
me,  for  I  am  dying !  Oh,  my  poor  mother,  I  shall 
never  see  you  again  !  My  poor  mother,  who  will  find 
me  dead  beside  the  way  ! "  And  he  folded  his  hands 
over  his  bosom  and  prayed.  Then  he  grew  better, 
thanks  to  the  care  of  the  capataz,  and  recovered ;  but 
with  his  recovery  arrived  the  most  terrible  day  of  his 
journey,  the  day  on  which  he  was  to  be  left  to  his  own 
devices.  They  had  been  on  the  way  for  more  than  two 


FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO  THE  ANDES.        263 

weeks  ;  when  they  arrived  at  the  point  where  the  ro&d 
to  Tucuman  parted  from  that  which  leads  to  Santiago 
dell'  Estero,  the  capataz  announced  to  him  that  they 
must  separate.  He  gave  him  some  instructions  with 
regard  to  the  road,  tied  his  bag  on  his  shoulders  in  a 
manner  which  would  not  annoy  him  as  he  walked,  and, 
breaking  off  short,  as  though  he  feared  that  he  should 
be  affected,  he  bade  him  farewell.  The  boy  had  barely 
time  to  kiss  him  on  one  arm.  The  other  men,  too,  who 
had  treated  him  so  harshly,  seemed  to  feel  a  little  pity 
at  the  sight  of  him  left  thus  alone,  and  the}*  made  signs 
of  farewell  to  him  as  they  moved  away.  And  he  re- 
turned the  salute  with  his  hand,  stood  watching  the 
convoy  until  it  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  red  dust  of  the 
plain,  and  then  set  out  sadly  on  his  road. 

One  thing,  on  the  other  hand,  comforted  him  a  little 
from  the  first.  After  all  those  days  of  travel  across 
that  endless  plain,  which  was  forever  the  same,  he  saw 
before  him  a  chain  of  mountains  very  high  and  blue, 
with  white  summits,  which  reminded  him  of  the  Alps, 
and  gave  him  the  feeling  of  having  drawn  near  to  his 
own  country  once  more.  They  were  the  Andes,  the 
dorsal  spine  of  the  American  continent,  that  immense 
chain  which  extends  from  Tierra  del  Fuego  to  the 
glacial  sea  of  the  Arctic  pole,  through  a  hundred  and 
ten  degrees  of  latitude.  And  he  was  also  comforted 
by  the  fact  that  the  air  seemed  to  him  to  grow  con- 
stantly warmer  ;  and  this  happened,  because,  in  ascend- 
ing towards  the  north,  he  was  slowly  approaching  the 
tropics.  At  great  distances  apart  there  were  tiny 
groups  of  houses  with  a  petty  shop ;  and  he  bought 
something  to  eat.  He  encountered  men  on  horseback  ; 
every  now  and  then  he  saw  women  and  children  seated 
on  the  ground,  motionless  and  grave,  with  faces  en- 


264       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

tirely  new  to  him,  of  an  earthen  hue,  with  oblique  eyes 
and  prominent  cheek-bones,  who  looked  at  him  intently, 
and  accompanied  him  with  their  gaze,  turning  their 
heads  slowly  like  automatons.  They  were  Indians. 

The  first  day  he  walked  as  long  as  his  strength 
would  permit,  and  slept  under  a  tree.  On  the  second 
day  he  made  considerably  less  progress,  and  with  less 
spirit.  His  shoes  were  dilapidated,  his  feet  wounded, 
his  stomach  weakened  by  bad  food.  Towards  evening 
he  began  to  be  alarmed.  He  had  heard,  in  Italy,  that 
in  this  land  there  were  serpents  ;  he  fancied  that  he 
heard  them  crawling  ;  he  halted,  then  set  out  on  a  run, 
and  with  cold  chills  in  all  his  bones.  At  times  he  was 
seized  with  a  profound  pity  for  himself,  and  he  wept 
silently  as  he  walked.  Then  he  thought,  "Oh,  how 
much  my  mother  would  suffer  if  she  knew  that  I  am 
afraid  !  "  and  this  thought  restored  his  courage.  Then, 
in  order  to  distract  his  thoughts  from  fear,  he  medi- 
tated much  of  her ;  he  recalled  to  rnind  her  words  when 
she  had  set  out  from  Genoa,  and  the  movement  with 
which  she  had  arranged  the  coverlet  beneath  his  chin 
when  he  was  in  bed,  and  when  he  was  a  baby  ;  for 
every  time  that  she  took  him  in  her  arms,  she  said  to 
him,  "  Stay  here  a  little  while  with  me  "  ;  and  thus 
she  remained  for  a  long  time,  with  her  head  resting 
on  his,  thinking,  thinking. 

And  he  said  to  himself:  "Shall  I  see  thee  again, 
dear  mother?  Shall  I  arrive  at  the  end  of  my  jour- 
ney, my  mother?"  And  he  walked  on  and  on,  among 
strange  trees,  vast  plantations  of  sugar-cane,  and  fields 
without  end,  always  with  those  blue  mountains  in  front 
of  him,  which  cut  the  sky  with  their  exceedingly  lofty 
crests.  Four  days,  five  days  —  a  week,  passed.  His 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       265 

strength  was  rapidly  declining,  his  feet  were  bleeding. 
Finally,  one  evening  at  sunset,  they  said  to  him :  — 

"  Tucuman  is  fifty  miles  from  here." 

He  uttered  a  cr}*  of  joy,  and  hastened  his  steps,  as 
though  he  had,  in  that  moment,  regained  all  his  lost 
vigor.  But  it  was  a  brief  illusion.  His  forces  sud- 
denly abandoned  him,  and  he  fell  upon  the  brink  of  a 
ditch,  exhausted.  But  his  heart  was  beating  with  con- 
tent. The  heaven,  thickly  sown  with  the  most  bril- 
liant stars,  had  never  seemed  so  beautiful  to  him.  He 
contemplated  it,  as  he  lay  stretched  out  on  the  grass 
to  sleep,  and  thought  that,  perhaps,  at  that  very 
moment,  his  mother  was  gazing  at  him.  And  he 
said :  — 

"O  my  mother,  where  art  thou?  What  art  thou 
doing  at  this  moment?  Dost  thou  think  of  thy  son? 
Dost  thou  think  of  thy  Marco,  who  is  so  near  to  thee?" 

Poor  Marco  !  If  he  could  have  seen  in  what  a  case 
his  mother  was  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  made  a 
superhuman  effort  to  proceed  on  his  way,  and  to  reach 
her  a  few  hours  earlier.  She  was  ill  in  bed,  in  a 
ground-floor  room  of  a  lordly  mansion,  where  dwelt 
the  entire  Mequinez  family.  The  latter  had  become 
very  fond  of  her,  and  had  helped  her  a  great  deal. 
The  poor  woman  had  already  been  ailing  when  the  engi- 
neer Mequinez  had  been  obliged  unexpectedly  to  set 
out  far  from  Buenos  Ayres,  and  she  had  not  benefited 
at  all  by  the  fine  air  of  Cordova.  But  then,  the  fact 
that  she  had  received  no  response  to  her  letters  from 
her  husband,  nor  from  her  cousin,  the  presentiment, 
always  lively,  of  some  great  misfortune,  the  continual 
anxiety  in  which  she  had  lived,  between  the  parting 
and  staying,  expecting  every  day  some  bad  news, 
had  caused  her  to  grow  worse  out  of  all  proportion. 


266       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

Finally,  a  very  serious  malady  had  declared  itself,  —  a 
strangled  internal  rupture.  She  had  not  risen  from 
her  bed  for  a  fortnight.  A  surgical  operation  was 
necessar3T  to  save  her  life.  And  at  precisely  the  mo- 
ment when  Marco  was  apostrophizing  her,  the  master 
and  mistress  of  the  house  were  standing  beside  her 
bed,  arguing  with  her,  with  great  gentleness,  to  per- 
suade her  to  allow  herself  to  be  operated  on,  and 
she  was  persisting  in  her  refusal,  and  weeping.  A 
good  physician  of  Tucuman  had  come  in  vain  a  week 
before. 

"No,  my  dear  master,"  she  said;  "do  not  count 
upon  it ;  I  have  not  the  strength  to  resist ;  I  should 
die  under  the  surgeon's  knife.  It  is  better  to  allow  me 
to  die  thus.  I  no  longer  cling  to  life.  All  is  at  an 
end  for  me.  It  is  better  to  die  before  learning  what 
has  happened  to  my  family." 

And  her  master  and  mistress  opposed,  and  said  that 
she  must  take  courage,  that  she  would  receive  a  reply 
to  the  last  letters,  which  had  been  sent  directly  to 
Genoa ;  that  she  must  allow  the  operation  to  be  per- 
formed ;  that  it  must  be  done  for  the  sake  of  her  fam- 
ily. But  this  suggestion  of  her  children  only  aggravated 
her  profound  discouragement,  which  had  for  a  long 
time  prostrated  her,  with  increasing  anguish.  At  these 
words  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  O  m}r  sons  !  my  sons  !  "  she  exclaimed,  wringing 
her  hands;  "perhaps  they  are  no  longer  alive  !  It  is 
better  that  I  should  die  also.  I  thank  you,  my  good 
master  and  mistress  ;  I  thank  you  from  my  heart.  But 
it  is  better  that  I  should  die.  At  all  events,  I  am  cer- 
tain that  I  shall  not  be  cured  by  this  operation.  Thanks 
for  all  your  care,  my  good  master  and  mistress.  It  is 
useless  for  the  doctor  to  come  again  after  to-morrow. 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       267 

I  wish  to  die.  It  is  my  fate  to  die  here.  I  have 
decided." 

And  they  began  again  to  console  her,  and  to  re« 
peat,  "Don't  say  that,"  and  to  take  her  hand  and 
beseech  her. 

But  she  closed  her  eyes  then  in  exhaustion,  and  fell 
into  a  doze,  so  that  she  appeared  to  be  dead.  And 
her  master  and  mistress  remained  there  a  little  while, 
by  the  faint  light  of  a  taper,  watching  with  great  com- 
passion that  admirable  mother,  who,  for  the  sake  of 
saving  her  family,  had  come  to  die  six  thousand  miles 
from  her  countr}-,  to  die  after  having  toiled  so  hard, 
poor  woman  !  and  she  was  so  honest,  so  good,  so  un- 
fortunate. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  following  day,  Marco, 
bent  and  limping,  with  his  bag  on  his  back,  entered 
the  city  of  Tucuman,  one  of  the  youngest  and  most 
flourishing  towns  of  the  Argentine  Republic.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  beheld  again  Cordova,  Rosario,  Buenos 
Ayres :  there  were  the  same  straight  and  extremely 
long  streets,  the  same  low  white  houses,  but  on  every 
hand  there  was  a  new  and  magnificent  vegetation,  a 
perfumed  air,  a  marvellous  light,  a  sky  limpid  and 
profound,  such  as  he  had  never  seen  even  in  Italy.  As 
he  advanced  through  the  streets,  he  experienced  once 
more  the  feverish  agitation  which  had  seized  on  him  at 
Buenos  Ayres  ;  he  stared  at  the  windows  and  doors  of 
all  the  houses  ;  he  stared  at  all  the  women  who  passed 
him,  with  an  anxious  hope  that  he  might  meet  his 
mother  ;  he  would  have  liked  to  question  every  one, 
but  did  not  dare  to  stop  any  one.  All  the  people  who 
were  standing  at  their  doors  turned  to  gaze  after  the 
poor,  tattered,  dusty  lad,  who  showed  that  he  had  come 
from  afar.  And  he  was  seeking,  among  all  these  peo- 


268       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDEb. 

pie,  a  countenance  which  should  inspire  him  with  con- 
fidence, in  order  to  direct  to  its  owner  that  tremendous 
query,  when  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  sign  of  an  inn  upon 
which  was  inscribed  an  Italian  name.  Inside  were  a 
man  with  spectacles,  and  two  women.  He  approached 
the  door  slowly,  and  summoning  up  a  resolute  spirit, 
he  inquired :  — 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  signer,  where  the  family  Mequi- 
nez  is  ?  " 

' '  The  engineer  Mequinez  ?  "  asked  the  innkeeper  in 
his  turn. 

"The  engineer  Mequinez,"  replied  the  lad  in  a 
thread  of  a  voice. 

"The  Mequinez  family  is  not  in  Tucuman,"  replied 
the  innkeeper. 

A  cry  of  desperate  pain,  like  that  of  one  who  has 
been  stabbed,  formed  an  echo  to  these  words. 

The  innkeeper  and  the  women  rose,  and  some  neigh- 
bors ran  up. 

"What's  the  matter?  what  ails  you,  my  boy?"  said 
the  innkeeper,  drawing  him  into  the  shop  and  making 
him  sit  down.  "The  deuce!  there's  no  reason  for 
despairing !  The  Mequinez  family  is  not  here,  but  at 
a  little  distance  off,  a  few  hours  from  Tucuman." 

"Where?  where?"  shrieked  Marco,  springing  up 
like  one  restored  to  life. 

"  Fifteen  miles  from  here,"  continued  the  man,  "  on 
the  river,  at  Saladillo,  in  a  place  where  a  big  sugar 
factory  is  being  built,  and  a  cluster  of  houses  ;  Signor 
Mequinez's  house  is  there  ;  every  one  knows  it :  you 
can  reach  it  in  a  few  hours." 

"  I  was  there  a  month  ago,"  said  a  youth,  who  had 
hastened  up  at  the  cry. 

Marco  stared  at  him  with  wide-open  eyes,  and  asked 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       269 

him  hastily,  turning  pale  as  he  did  so,  "  Did  you  see 
the  servant  of  Signor  Mequinez  —  the  Italian?" 

"The  Genoese?     Yes;  I  saw  her." 

Marco  burst  into  a  convulsive  sob,  which  was  'half  a 
laugh  and  half  a  sob.  Then,  with  a  burst  of  violent 
resolution  :  "  Which  way  am  I  to  go?  quick,  the  road  ! 
I  shall  set  out  instantly  ;  show  me  the  way  !  " 

"  But  it  is  a  day's  march,"  they  all  told  him,  in  one 
breath.  "You  are  weary;  you  should  rest ;  you  can 
set  out  to-morrow." 

"  Impossible  !  impossible  !  "  replied  the  lad.  "  Tell 
me  the  way  ;  I  will  not  wait  another  instant ;  I  shall 
set  out  at  once,  were  I  to  die  on  the  road  !  " 

On  perceiving  him  so  inflexible,  they  no  longer  op- 
posed him.  "  May  God  accompany  you  !  "  they  said  to 
him.  "Look  out  for  the  path  through  the  forest.  A 
fair  journey  to  you,  little  Italian  !  "  A  man  accompa- 
nied him  outside  of  the  town,  pointed  out  to  him  the 
road,  gave  him  some  counsel,  and  stood  still  to  watch 
him  start.  At  the  expiration  of  a  few  minutes,  the  lad 
disappeared,  limping,  with  his  bag  on  his  shoulders,  be- 
hind the  thick  trees  which  lined  the  road. 

That  night  was  a  dreadful  one  for  the  poor  sick 
woman.  She  suffered  atrocious  pain,  which  wrung 
from  her  shrieks  that  were  enough  to  burst  her  veins, 
and  rendered  her  delirious  at  times.  The  women 
waited  on  her.  She  lost  her  head.  Her  mistress  ran 
in,  from  time  to  time,  in  affright.  All  began  to  fear 
that,  even  if  she  had  decided  to  allow  herself  to  be 
operated  on,  the  doctor,  who  was  not  to  come  until  the 
next  day,  would  have  arrived  too  late.  During  the 
moments  when  she  was  not  raving,  however,  it  was 
evident  that  her  most  terrible  torture  arose  not  from 
her  bodily  pains,  but  from  the  thought  of  her  distant 


270       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

family.  Emaciated,  wasted  away,  with  changed  visage, 
she  thrust  her  hands  through  her  hair,  with  a  gesture 
of  desperation,  and  shrieked  :  — 

"  My  God  !  My  God  !  To  die  so  far  away,  to  die 
without  seeing  them  again  !  My  poor  children,  who 
will  be  left  without  a  mother,  my  poor  little  creatures, 
my  poor  darlings  !  My  Marco,  who  is  still  so  small ! 
only  as  tall  as  this,  and  so  good  and  affectionate  !  You 
do  not  know  what  a  boy  he  was !  If  you  only  knew, 
signora  !  I  could  not  detach  him  from  my  neck  when  I 
set  out ;  he  sobbed  in  a  way  to  move  your  pity  ;  he 
sobbed ;  it  seemed  as  though  he  knew  that  he  would 
never  behold  his  poor  mother  again.  Poor  Marco,  my 
poor  baby  !  I  thought  that  my  heart  would  break  ! 
Ah,  if  I  had  only  died  then,  died  while  they  were  bid- 
ding me  farewell !  If  I  had  but  dropped  dead  !  With- 
out a  mother,  my  poor  child,  he  who  loved  me  so  dearly, 
who  needed  me  so  much  !  without  a  mother,  in  misery, 
he  will  be  forced  to  beg !  He,  Marco,  my  Marco,  will 
stretch  out  his  hand,  famishing !  O  eternal  God ! 
No  !  I  will  not  die  !  The  doctor !  Call  him  at  once  ! 
let  him  come,  let  him  cut  me,  let  him  cleave  my  breast, 
let  him  drive  me  mad ;  but  let  him  save  my  life  !  I 
want  to  recover ;  I  want  to  live,  to  depart,  to  flee,  to- 
morrow, at  once  !  The  doctor  !  Help  !  help  !  " 

And  the  women  seized  her  hands  and  soothed  her, 
and  made  her  calm  herself  little  by  little,  and  spoke  to 
her  of  God  and  of  hope.  And  then  she  fell  back  again 
into  a  mortal  dejection,  wept  with  her  hands  clutched 
in  her  gray  hair,  moaned  like  an  infant,  uttering  a  pro- 
longed lament,  and  murmuring  from  time  to  time  :  — 

"O  my  Genoa!  My  house!  All  that  sea!  —  O 
my  Marco,  my  poor  Marco !  Where  is  he  now,  my 
poor  darling?  " 


J'fiOM  THE  APENNINES  TO  THE  ANDES.       271 

It  was  midnight ;  and  her  poor  Marco,  after  having 
passed  many  hours  on  the  brink  of  a  ditch,  his  strength 
exhausted,  was  then  walking  through  a  forest  of  gigan- 
tic trees,  monsters  of  vegetation,  huge  boles  like  the 
pillars  of  a  cathedral,  which  interlaced  their  enormous 
crests,  silvered  by  the  moon,  at  a  wonderful  height. 
Vaguely,  amid  the  half  gloom,  he  caught  glimpses  of 
myriads  of  trunks  of  all  forms,  upright,  inclined,  con- 
torted, crossed  in  strange  postures  of  menace  and  of 
conflict;  some  overthrown  on  the  earth,  like  towers 
which  had  fallen  bodily,  and  covered  with  a  dense  and 
confused  mass  of  vegetation,  which  seemed  like  a  furi- 
ous throng,  disputing  the  ground  span  by  span  ;  others 
collected  in  great  groups,  vertical  and  serrated,  like 
trophies  of  titanic  lances,  whose  tips  touched  the 
clouds  ;  a  superb  grandeur,  a  prodigious  disorder  of 
colossal  forms,  the  most  majestically  terrible  spectacle 
which  vegetable  nature  ever  presented. 

At  times  he  was  overwhelmed  by  a  great  stupor. 
But  his  mind  instantly  took  flight  again  towards  his 
mother.  He  was  worn  out,  with  bleeding  feet,  alone 
in  the  middle  of  this  formidable  forest,  where  it  was 
only  at  long  intervals  that  he  saw  tiny  human  habita- 
tions, which  at  the  foot  of  these  trees  seemed  like  the 
ant-hills,  or  some  buffalo  asleep  beside  the  road ;  he 
was  exhausted,  but  he  was  not  conscious  of  his  ex- 
haustion ;  he  was  alone,  and  he  felt  no  fear.  The 
grandeur  of  the  forest  rendered  his  soul  grand ;  his 
nearness  to  his  mother  gave  him  the  strength  and  the 
hardihood  of  a  man  ;  the  memory  of  the  ocean,  of  the 
alarms  and  the  sufferings  which  he  had  undergone  and 
vanquished,  of  the  toil  which  he  had  endured,  of  the 
iron  constancy  which  he  had  displayed,  caused  him  to 
uplift  his  brow.  All  his  strong  and  noble  Genoese 


272       FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES. 

blood  flowed  back  to  his  heart  in  an  ardent  tide  of  joy 
and  audacity.  And  a  new  thing  took  place  within  him  ; 
while  he  had,  up  to  this  time,  borne  in  his  mind  an  im- 
age of  his  mother,  dimmed  and  paled  somewhat  by  the 
two  years  of  absence,  at  that  moment  the  image  grew 
clear ;  he  again  beheld  her  face,  perfect  and  distinct, 
as  he  had  not  beheld  it  for  a  long  time  ;  he  beheld  it 
close  to  him,  illuminated,  speaking ;  he  again  beheld 
the  most  fleeting  motions  of  her  eyes,  and  of  her  lips, 
all  her  attitudes,  all  the  shades  of  her  thoughts  ;  and 
urged  on  by  these  pursuing  recollections,  he  hastened 
his  steps  ;  and  a  new  affection,  an  unspeakable  tender- 
ness, grew  in  him,  grew  in  his  heart,  making  sweet  and 
quiet  tears  to  flow  down  his  face  ;  and  as  he  advanced 
through  the  gloom,  he  spoke  to  her,  he  said  to  her  the 
words  which  he  would  murmur  in  her  ear  in  a  little 
while  more  :  — 

"I  am  here,  my  mother;  behold  me  here.  I  will 
never  leave  you  again  ;  we  will  return  home  together, 
and  I  will  remain  always  beside  you  on  board  the  ship, 
close  beside  you,  and  no  one  shall  ever  part  me  from 
you  again,  no  one,  never  more,  so  long  as  I  have  life  !" 

And  in  the  meantime  he  did  not  observe  bow  the 
silvery  light  of  the  moon  was  dying  away  on  the  sum- 
mits of  the  gigantic  trees  in  the  delicate  whiteness  of 
the  dawn. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  that  morning,  the  doctor  from 
Tucuman,  a  young  Argentine,  was  already  by  the  bed- 
side of  the  sick  woman,  in  compan}-  with  an  assist- 
ant, endeavoring,  for  the  last  time,  to  persuade  her  to 
permit  herself  to  be  operated  on  ;  and  the  engineer 
Mequinez  and  his  wife  added  their  warmest  persua- 
sions to  those  of  the  former.  But  all  was  in  vain. 
The  woman,  feeling  her  strength  exhausted,  had  no 


FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES.       273 

longer  any  faith  in  the  operation ;  she  was  perfectly 
certain  that  she  should  die  under  it,  or  that  she  should 
only  survive  it  a  few  hours,  after  having  suffered  in 
vain  pains  that  were  more  atrocious  than  those  of  which 
she  should  die  in  any  case.  The  doctor  lingered  to 
tell  her  once  more  :  — 

' '  But  the  operation  is  a  safe  one ;  your  safety  is 
certain,  provided  you  exercise  a  little  courage  !  And 
your  death  is  equally  certain  if  you  refuse  !  "  It  was 
a  sheer  waste  of  words. 

"No,"  she  replied  in  a  faint  voice,  "I  still  have 
courage  to  die  ;  but  I  no  longer  have  any  to  suffer 
uselessly.  Leave  me  to  die  in  peace." 

The  doctor  desisted  in  discouragement.  No  one  said 
anything  more.  Then  the  woman  turned  her  face 
towards  her  mistress,  and  addressed  to  her  her  last 
prayers  in  a  dying  voice. 

"  Dear,  good  signora,"  she  said  with  a  great  effort, 
sobbing,  "  you  will  send  this  little  money  and  my  poor 
effects  to  my  family  —  through  the  consul.  I  hope 
that  they  may  all  be  alive.  My  heart  presages  well 
in  these,  my  last  moments.  You  will  do  me  the  favor 
to  write  —  that  I  have  always  thought  of  them,  that 
I  have  always  toiled  for  them  —  for  my  children  — 
that  my  sole  grief  was  not  to  see  them  once  more  — 
but  that  I  died  courageously  —  with  resignation  — 
blessing  them  ;  and  that  I  recommend  to  my  husband 
—  and  to  my  elder  son  —  the  youngest,  my  poor 
Marco  —  that  I  bore  him  in  my  heart  until  the  last 
moment  —  "  And  suddenly  she  became  excited,  and 
shrieked,  as  she  clasped  her  hands :  "  My  Marco,  my 
baby,  my  baby  !  My  life  !  —  "  But  on  casting  her  tear- 
ful eyes  round  her,  she  perceived  that  her  mistress  was 
no  longer  there ;  she  had  been  secretly  called  away. 


274       FROM  THE  APENNINES   TO   THE  ANDES. 

She  sought  her  master  ;  he  had  disappeared.  No  one 
remained  with  her  except  the  two  nurses  and  the  assist- 
ant. She  heard  in  the  adjoining  room  the  sound  of 
hurried  footsteps,  a  murmur  of  hasty  and  subdued 
voices,  and  repressed  exclamations.  The  sick  woman 
fixed  her  glazing  eyes  on  the  door,  in  expectation. 
At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  she  saw  the  doctor  appear 
with  an  unusual  expression  on  his  face  ;  then  her  mis- 
tress and  master,  with  their  countenances  also  altered. 
All  three  gazed  at  her  with  a  singular  expression,  and 
exchanged  a  few  words  in  a  low  tone.  She  fancied 
that  the  doctor  said  to  her  mistress,  "  Better  let  it  be 
at  once."  She  did  not  understand. 

"  Josefa,"  said  her  mistress  to  the  sick  woman,  in 
a  trembling  voice,  "  I  have  some  good  news  for  you. 
Prepare  your  heart  for  good  news." 

The  woman  observed  her  intently. 

"News,"  pursued  the  lady,  with  increasing  agita- 
tion, "  which  will  give  you  great  joy." 

The  sick  woman's  eyes  dilated. 

"  Prepare  yourself,"  continued  her  mistress,  "  to  see 
a  person  —  of  whom  you  are  very  fond." 

The  woman  raised  her  head  with  a  vigorous  move- 
ment, and  began  to  gaze  in  rapid  succession,  first  at 
the  lady  and  then  at  the  door,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"A  person,"  added  the  lady,  turning  pale,  "who 
has  just  arrived  —  unexpectedly." 

"Who  is  it?"  shrieked  the  woman,  with  a  strange 
and  choked  voice,  like  that  of  a  person  in  terror.  An 
instant  later  she  gave  vent  to  a  shrill  scream,  sprang 
into  a  sitting  posture  in  her  bed,  and  remained  motion- 
less, with  starting  eyes,  and  her  hands  pressed  to  her 
temples,  as  in  the  presence  of  a  supernatural  appa- 
rition. 


FROM  THE  APENNINES  TO   THE  ANDES.      275 

Marco,  tattered  and  dusty,  stood  there  on  the  thresh- 
old, held  back  by  the  doctor's  hand  on  one  arm. 

The  woman  uttered  three  shrieks:  "God!  God! 
My  God ! " 

Marco  rushed  forward  ;  she  stretched  out  to  him  her 
fleshless  arms,  and  straining  him  to  her  heart  with  the 
strength  of  a  tiger,  she  burst  into  a  violent  laugh, 
broken  by  deep,  tearless  sobs,  which  caused  her  to  fall 
back  suffocating  on  her  pillow. 

But  she  speedily  recovered  herself,  and  mad  with 
JO3T,  she  shrieked  as  she  covered  his  head  with  kisses : 
"  How  do  you  come  here?  Why?  Is  it  you?  How 
you  have  grown  !  Who  brought  you  ?  Are  you  alone  ? 
You  are  not  ill?  It  is  you,  Marco  !  It  is  not  a  dream  ! 
My  God  !  Speak  to  me  !  " 

Then  she  suddenly  changed  her  tone  :  "  No  !  Be 
silent !  Wait ! "  And  turning  to  the  doctor,  she  said 
with  precipitation:  "Quick,  doctor!  this  instant!  I 
want  to  get  well.  I  am  ready.  Do  not  lose  a  moment. 
Take  Marco  away,  so  that  he  may  not  hear.  —  Marco, 
my  love,  it  is  nothing.  I  will  tell  you  about  it.  One 
more  kiss.  Go  !  —  Here  I  am,  doctor." 

Marco  was  taken  away.  The  master,  mistress,  and 
women  retired  in  haste  ;  the  surgeon  and  his  assistant 
remained  behind,  and  closed  the  door. 

Signor  Meqninez  attempted  to  lead  Marco  to  a  dis- 
tant room,  but  it  was  impossible  ;  he  seemed  rooted  to 
the  pavement. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked.  "What  is  the  matter 
with  my  mother  ?  What  are  they  doing  to  her  ?  " 

And  then  Mequinez  said  softly,  still  trying  to  draw 
him  away:  "Here!  Listen  to  me.  I  will  tell  you 
now.  Your  mother  is  ill ;  she  must  undergo  a  little 
operation  ;  I  will  explain  it  all  to  you  :  come  with  me." 


276  SUMMER. 

"  No,"  replied  the  lad,  resisting;  "I  want  to  stay 
here.  Explain  it  to  me  here." 

The  engineer  heaped  words  on  words,  as  he  drew 
him  away ;  the  boy  began  to  grow  terrified  and  to 
tremble. 

Suddenly  an  acute  cry,  like  that  of  one  wounded  to 
the  death,  rang  through  the  whole  house. 

The  boy  responded  with  another  desperate  shriek, 
"  My  mother  is  dead  !  " 

The  doctor  appeared  on  the  threshold  and  said, 
"  Your  mother  is  saved." 

The  boy  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  flung 
himself  at  his  feet,  sobbing,  "  Thanks,  doctor !  " 

But  the  doctor  raised  him  with  a  gesture,  saying : 
"Rise!  It  is  you,  you  heroic  child,  who  have  saved 
your  mother ! " 

SUMMER. 

Wednesday,  24th. 

Marco,  the  Genoese,  is  the  last  little  hero  but  one 
whose  acquaintance  we  shall  make  this  year  ;  only  one 
remains  for  the  month  of  June.  There  are  only  two 
more  monthly  examinations,  twenty-six  days  of  les- 
sons, six  Thursdays,  and  five  Sundays.  The  air  of 
the  end  of  the  year  is  already  perceptible.  The  trees 
of  the  garden,  leafy  and  in  blossom,  cast  a  fine  shade 
on  the  gymnastic  apparatus.  The  scholars  are  already 
dressed  in  summer  clothes.  And  it  is  beautiful,  at  the 
close  of  school  and  the  exit  of  the  classes,  to  see  how 
different  everything  is  from  what  it  was  in  the  months 
that  are  past.  The  long  locks  which  touched  the  shoul- 
ders have  disappeared ;  all  heads  are  closely  shorn ; 
bare  legs  and  throats  are  to  be  seen ;  little  straw  hats 
of  every  shape,  with  ribbons  that  descend  even  on  the 


SUMMER.  277 

backs  of  the  wearers ;  shirts  and  neckties  of  every 
hue  ;  all  the  little  children  with  something  red  or  blue 
about  them,  a  facing,  a  border,  a  tassel,  a  scrap  of 
some  vivid  color  tacked  on  somewhere  by  the  mother, 
so  that  even  the  poorest  may  make  a  good  figure  ;  and 
many  come  to  school  without  any  hats,  as  though  they 
had  run  away  from  home.  Some  wear  the  white  gym- 
nasium suit.  There  is  one  of  Schoolmistress  Delcati's 
boys  who  is  red  from  head  to  foot,  like  a  boiled  crab. 
Several  are  dressed  like  sailors. 

But  the  finest  of  all  is  the  little  mason,  who  has 
donned  a  big  straw  hat,  which  gives  him  the  appear- 
ance of  a  half -candle  with  a  shade  over  it ;  and  it  is 
ridiculous  to  see  him  make  his  hare's  face  beneath 
it.  Coretti,  too,  has  abandoned  his  catskin  cap,  and 
wears  an  old  travelling-cap  of  gray  silk.  Votini  has  a 
sort  of  Scotch  dress,  all  decorated  ;  Crossi  displays  his 
bare  breast ;  Precossi  is  lost  inside  of  a  blue  blouse  be- 
longing to  the  blacksmith-ironmonger. 

And  Garoffi?  Now  that  he  has  been  obliged  to  dis- 
card the  cloak  beneath  which  he  concealed  his  wares, 
all  his  pockets  are  visible,  bulging -with  all  sorts  of 
huckster's  trifles,  and  the  lists  of  his  lotteries  force 
themselves  out.  Now  all  his  pockets  allow  their  con- 
tents to  be  seen,  —  fans  made  of  half  a  newspaper,  knobs 
of  canes,  darts  to  fire  at  birds,  herbs,  and  maybugs 
which  creep  out  of  his  pockets  and  crawl  gradually 
over  the  jackets. 

Many  of  the  little  fellows  carry  bunches  of  flowers 
to  the  mistresses.  The  mistresses  are  dressed  in  sum- 
mer garments  also,  of  cheerful  tints  ;  all  except  the 
"  little  nun,"  who  is  always  in  black  ;  and  the  mistress 
with  the  red  feather  still  has  her  red  feather,  and  a 
knot  of  red  ribbon  at  her  neck,  all  tumbled  with  the 


278  POETRY. 

little  paws  of  her  scholars,  who  alwaj-s  make  her  laugh 
and  flee. 

It  is  the  season,  too,  of  cherry-trees,  of  butterflies, 
of  music  in  the  streets,  and  of  rambles  in  the  country  ; 
many  of  the  fourth  grade  run  away  to  bathe  in  the  Po  ; 
all  have  their  hearts  already  set  on  the  vacation  ;  each 
day  they  issue  forth  from  school  more  impatient  and 
content  than  the  day  before.  Only  it  pains  me  to  see 
Gar  rone  in  mourning,  and  my  poor  mistress  of  the 
primary,  who  is  thinner  and  whiter  than  ever,  and  who 
coughs  with  ever-increasing  violence.  She  walks  all 
bent  over  now,  and  salutes  me  so  sadly  ! 


POETRY. 

Friday,  26th. 

You  are  now  beginning  to  comprehend  the  poetry  of 
school,  Enrico  ;  but  at  present  you  only  survey  the 
school  from  within.  It  will  seem  much  more  beautiful 
and  more  poetic  to  you  twenty  years  from  now,  when 
you  go  thither  to  escort  your  own  boys  ;  and  you  will 
then  survey  it  from  the  outside,  as  I  do.  While  wait- 
ing for  school  to  close,  I  wander  about  the  silent  street, 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  edifice,  and  lay  ray  ear  to  the 
windows  of  the  ground  floor,  which  are  screened  by 
Venetian  blinds.  At  one  window  I  hear  the  voice  of  a 
schoolmistress  saying  :  — - 

"Ah,  what  a  shape  for  a  t !  It  won't  do,  my  dear 
boy  !  What  would  your  father  say  to  it  ?  " 

At  the  next  window  there  resounds  the  heavy  voice 
of  a  master,  which  is  saying :  — 

"  I  will  buy  fifty  metres  of  stuff — at  four  lire  and  a 
half  the  metre  —  and  sell  it  again  —  " 


POETRY.  279 

Further  on  there  is  the  mistress  with  the  red  feather, 
who  is  reading  aloud  :  — 

"Then  Pietro  Micca,  with  the  lighted  train  of  pow- 
der—" 

From  the  adjoining  class-room  comes  the  chirping  of 
a  thousand  birds,  which  signifies  that  the  master  has 
stepped  out  for  a  moment.  I  proceed  onward,  and  as 
I  turn  the  corner,  I  hear  a  scholar  weeping,  and  the 
voice  of  the  mistress  reproving  and  comforting  him. 
From  the  lofty  windows  issue  verses,  names  of  great 
and  good  men,  fragments  of  sentences  which  inculcate 
virtue,  the  love  of  country,  and  courage.  Then  ensue 
moments  of  silence,  in  which  one  would  declare  that 
the  edifice  is  empty,  and  it  does  not  seem  possible  that 
there  should  be  seven  hundred  boys  within  ;  noisy  out- 
bursts of  hilarity  become  audible,  provoked  by  the  jest 
of  a  master  in  a  good  humor.  And  the  people  who  are 
passing  halt,  and  all  direct  a  glance  of  sympathy 
towards  that  pleasing  building,  which  contains  so 
much  youth  and  so  many  hopes.  Then  a  sudden  dull 
sound  is  heard,  a  clapping  to  of  books  and  portfolios,  a 
shuffling  of  feet,  a  buzz  which  spreads  from  room  to 
room,  and  from  the  lower  to  the  higher,  as  at  the  sud- 
den diffusion  of  a  bit  of  good  news  :  it  is  the  beadle, 
who  is  making  his  rounds,  announcing  the  dismissal  of 
school.  And  at  that  sound  a  throng  of  women,  men, 
girls,  and  youths  press  closer  from  this  side  and  that 
of  the  door,  waiting  for  their  sons,  brothers,  or  grand- 
children ;  while  from  the  doors  of  the  class-rooms  little 
boys  shoot  forth  into  the  big  hall,  as  from  a  spout, 
seize  their  little  capes  and  hats,  creating  a  great  con- 
fusion with  them  on  the  floor,  and  dancing  all  about, 
until  the  beadle  chases  them  forth  one  after  the  other. 
And  at  length  they  come  forth,  in  long  files,  stamping 


280  THE  DEAF-MUTE. 

their  feet.  And  then  from  all  the  relatives  there  de- 
scends a  shower  of  questions:  "Did  you  know  your 
lesson? — How  much  work  did  they  give  you?  —  What 
have  you  to  do  for  to-morrow  !  —  When  does  the  monthly 
examination  come?  " 

And  then  even  the  poor  mothers  who  do  not  know 
how  to  read,  open  the  copy-books,  gaze  at  the  prob- 
lems, and  ask  particulars:  "Only  eight?  —  Ten  with 
commendation?  —  Nine  for  the  lesson?" 

And  they  grow  uneasy,  and  rejoice,  and  interrogate 
the  masters,  and  talk  of  prospectuses  and  examina- 
tions. How  beautiful  all  this  is,  and  how  great  and 
how  immense  is  its  promise  for  the  world ! 


THE  DEAF-MUTE. 

Sunday,  28th. 

The  month  of  May  could  not  have  had  a  better  end- 
ing than  my  visit  of  this  morning.  We  heard  a  jin- 
gling of  the  bell,  and  all  ran  to  see  what  it  meant.  I 
heard  my  father  say  in  a  tone  of  astonishment :  — 

"You  here,  Giorgio?" 

Giorgio  was  our  gardener  in  Chieri,  who  now  has  his 
family  at  Condove,  and  who  had  just  arrived  from 
Genoa,  where  he  had  disembarked  on  the  preceding 
day,  on  his  return  from  Greece,  where  he  has  been 
working  on  the  railway  for  the  last  three  years.  He 
had  a  big  bundle  in  his  arms.  He  has  grown  a  little 
older,  but  his  face  is  still  red  and  jolly. 

My  father  wished  to  have  him  enter ;  but  he  refused, 
and  suddenly  inquired,  assuming  a  serious  expression: 
"  How  is  my  family?  How  is  Gigia?  " 

"  She  was  well  a  few  days  ago,"  replied  my  mother. 

Giorgio  uttered  a  deep  sigh. 


THE  DEAF-MUTE.  281 

"Oh,  God  be  praised!  I  had  not  the  courage  to 
present  myself  at  the  Deaf-mute  Institution  until  I  had 
heard  about  her.  I  will  leave  my  bundle  here,  and  run 
to  get  her.  It  is  three  years  since  I  have  seen  my  poor 
little  daughter  !  Three  years  since  I  have  seen  any  of 
my  people ! " 

My  father  said  to  me,  "  Accompany  him." 

"Excuse  me;  one  word  more,"  said  the  gardener, 
from  the  landing. 

My  father  interrupted  him,  "  And  your  affairs?" 

"  All  right,"  the  other  replied.  "  Thanks  to  God,  I 
have  brought  back  a  few  soldi.  But  I  wanted  to  in- 
quire. Tell  me  how  the  education  of  the  little  dumb 
girl  is  getting  on.  When  I  left  her,  she  was  a  poor 
little  animal,  poor  thing !  I  don't  put  much  faith  in 
those  colleges.  Has  she  learned  how  to  make  signs? 
My  wife  did  write  to  me,  to  be  sure, '  She  is  learning  to 
speak  ;  she  is  making  progress.'  But  I  said  to  myself, 
What  is  the  use  of  her  learning  to  talk  if  I  don't  know 
how  to  make  the  signs  myself  ?  How  shall  we  manage 
to  understand  each  other,  poor  little  thing?  That  is 
well  enough  to  enable  them  to  understand  each  other, 
one  unfortunate  to  comprehend  another  unfortunate. 
How  is  she  getting  on,  then?  How  is  she?  " 

M}~  father  smiled,  and  replied  :  — 

' '  I  shall  not  tell  you  anything  about  it ;  you  will 
see  ;  go,  go  ;  don't  waste  another  minute  ! " 

We  took  our  departure ;  the  institute  is  close  by. 
As  we  went  along  with  huge  strides,  the  gardener 
talked  to  me,  and  grew  sad. 

"  Ah,  my  poor  Gigia  !  To  be  born  with  such  an  in- 
firmity !  To  think  that  I  have  never  heard  her  call  me 
father ;  that  she  has  never  heard  me  call  her  my  daugh- 
ter; that  she  has  never  either  heard  or  uttered  a  single 


282  THE  DEAF-MUTE. 

word  since  she  has  been  in  the  world  !  And  it  is  lucky 
that  a  charitable  gentleman  was  found  to  pay  the  ex- 
penses of  the  institution.  But  that  is  all  —  she  could 
not  enter  there  until  she  was  eight  years  old.  She  has 
not  been  at  home  for  three  years.  She  is  now  going 
on  eleven.  And  she  has  grown?  Tell  me,  she  has 
grown?  She  is  in  good  spirits ?" 

"You  will  see  in  a  moment,  you  will  see  in  a  mo- 
ment," I  replied,  hastening  my  pace. 

"But  where  is  this  institution?"  he  demanded. 
"  My  wife  went  with  her  after  I  was  gone.  It  seems 
to  me  that  it  ought  to  be  near  here." 

"We  had  just  reached  it.  We  at  once  entered  the 
parlor.  An  attendant  came  to  meet  us. 

"I  am  the  father  of  Gigia  Voggi,"  said  the  gar- 
dener ;  "  give  me  my  daughter  instantly." 

"  They  are  at  play,"  replied  the  attendant ;  "I  will 
go  and  inform  the  matron."  And  he  hastened  away. 

The  gardener  could  no  longer  speak  nor  stand  still ; 
he  stared  at  all  four  walls,  without  seeing  anything. 

The  door  opened ;  a  teacher  entered,  dressed  in 
black,  holding  a  little  girl  by  the  hand. 

Father  and  daughter  gazed  at  one  another  for  an 
instant ;  then  flew  into  each  other's  arms,  uttering  a 
cry. 

The  girl  was  dressed  in  a  white  and  reddish  striped 
material,  with  a  gray  apron.  She  is  a  little  taller  than 
I.  She  cried,  and  clung  to  her  father's  neck  with  both 
arms. 

Her  father  disengaged  himself,  and  began  to  survey 
iier  from  head  to  foot,  panting  as  though  he  had  run  a 
long  way;  and  he  exclaimed:  "Ah,  how  she  has 
grown  !  How  pretty  she  has  become !  Oh,  my  dear, 
poor  Gigia !  My  poor  mute  child !  —  Are  you  her 


THE  DEAF-MUTE.  283 

teacher,  signora?  Tell  her  to  make  some  of  her  signs 
to  me ;  for  I  shall  be  able  to  understand  something, 
and  then  I  will  learn  little  by  little.  Tell  her  to  make 
me  understand  something  with  her  gestures." 

The  teacher  smiled,  and  said  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
girl,  "  Who  is  this  man  who  has  come  to  see  you?  " 

And  the  girl  replied  with  a  smile,  in  a  coarse, 
strange,  dissonant  voice,  like  that  of  a  savage  who 
was  speaking  for  the  first  time  in  our  language,  but 
with  a  distinct  pronunciation,  "  He  is  my  fa-ther." 

The  gardener  fell  back  a  pace,  and  shrieked  like  a 
madman  :  "  She  speaks  !  Is  it  possible  !  Is  it  possi- 
ble !  She  speaks?  Can  you  speak,  my  child?  can 
you  speak?  Say  something  to  me:  you  can  speak?" 
and  he  embraced  her  afresh,  and  kissed  her  thrice  on 
the  brow.  "But  it  is  not  with  signs  that  she  talks, 
signora;  it  is  not 'with  her  fingers?  What  does  this 
mean  ?  " 

"No,  Signer  Voggi,"  rejoined  the  teacher,  "it  is 
not  with  signs.  That  was  the  old  way.  Here  we 
teach  the  new  method,  the  oral  method.  How  is  it 
that  you  did  not  know  it?" 

"I  knew  rothing  about  it!"  replied  the  gardener, 
lost  in  amazement.  "I  have  been  abroad  for  the  last 
three  years.  Oh,  they  wrote  to  me,  and  I  did  not 
understand.  I  am  a  blockhead.  Oh,  my  daughter, 
you  understand  me,  then?  Do  you  hear  my  voice? 
Answer  me :  do  you  hear  me  ?  Do  you  hear  what  I 
say?" 

"  Why,  no,  my  good  man,"  said  the  teacher ;  "  she 
does  not  hear  your  voice,  because  she  is  deaf.  She 
understands  from  the  movements  of  your  lips  what  the 
words  are  that  you  utter ;  this  is  the  way  the  thing  is 
managed ;  but  she  does  not  hear  your  voice  any  more 


284  THE  DEAF-MUTE. 

than  she  does  the  words  which  she  speaks  to  you ;  she 
pronounces  them,  because  we  have  taught  her,  letter 
by  letter,  how  she  must  place  her  lips  and  move  her 
tongue,  and  what  effort  she  must  make  with  her  chest 
and  throat,  in  order  to  emit  a  sound." 

The  gardener  did  not  understand,  and  stood  with  his 
mouth  wide  open.  He  did  not  yet  believe  it. 

"Tell  me,  Gigia,"  he  asked  his  daughter,  whisper- 
ing in  her  ear,  "  are  you  glad  that  your  father  has 
come  back?"  and  he  raised  his  face  again,  and  stood 
awaiting  her  reply. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  thoughtfully,  and  said  noth- 
ing. 

Her  father  was  perturbed. 

The  teacher  laughed.  Then  she  said:  "  My  good 
man,  she  does  not  answer  you,  because  she  did  not  see 
the  movements  of  your  lips:  you 'spoke  in  her  ear! 
Repeat  your  question,  keeping  your  face  well  before 
hers." 

The  father,  gazing  straight  in  her  face,  repeated, 
"Are  you  glad  that  your  father  has  come  back?  that 
he  is  not  going  away  again  ?  " 

The  girl,  who  had  observed  his  lips  attentively,  seek- 
ing even  to  see  inside  his  mouth,  replied  frankly  :  — 

"Yes,  I  am  de-light-ed  that  you  have  re-turned, 
that  you  are  not  go-ing  a-way  a-gain  —  nev-er  a-gain." 

Her  father  embraced  her  impetuously,  and  then  in 
great  haste,  in  order  to  make  quite  sure,  he  over- 
whelmed her  with  questions. 

"  What  is  mamma's  name?  " 

«*  An-to-nia." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  your  little  sister?" 

"  Ad-e-laide." 

*'  What  is  the  name  of  this  college?  " 


THE  DEAF-MUTE.  285 

44  The  Deaf-mute  Insti-tution." 

' '  How  many  are  two  times  ten  ?  " 

"Twen-ty." 

While  we  thought  that  he  was  laughing  for  joy,  he 
suddenly  burst  out  crying.  But  this  was  the  result  of 
joy  also. 

"Take  courage,"  said  the  teacher  to  him;  "you 
have  reason  to  rejoice,  not  to  weep.  You  see  that  you 
are  making  your  daughter  cr}r  also.  You  are  pleased, 
then?" 

The  gardener  grasped  the  teacher's  hand  and  kissed  it 
two  or  three  times,  saying  :  "  Thanks,  thanks,  thanks  ! 
a  hundred  thanks,  a  thousand  thanks,  dear  Signora 
Teacher !  and  forgive  me  for  not  knowing  how  to  say 
anything  else  !  " 

"  But  she  not  only  speaks,"  said  the  teacher  ;  "  your 
daughter  also  knows  how  to  write.  She  knows  how  to 
reckon.  She  knows  the  names  of  all  common  objects. 
She  knows  a  little  history  and  geography.  She  is  now 
in  the  regular  class.  "When  she  has  passed  through 
the  two  remaining  classes,  she  will  know  much  more. 
When  she  leaves  here,  she  will  be  in  a  condition  to 
adopt  a  profession.  We  already  have  deaf-mutes  who 
stand  in  the  shops  to  serve  customers,  and  they  per- 
form their  duties  like  any  one  else." 

Again  the  gardener  was  astounded.  It  seemed  as 
though  his  ideas  were  becoming  confused  again.  He 
stared  at  his  daughter  and  scratched  his  head.  His 
face  demanded  another  explanation. 

Then  the  teacher  turned  to  the  attendant  and  said  to 
him  :  — 

"  Call  a  child  of  the  preparatory  class  for  me." 

The  attendant  returned,  in  a  short  time,  with  a  deaf- 


286  THE  DEAF-MUTE. 

mute  of  eight  or  nine  years,  who  had  entered  the  insti- 
tution a  few  days  before. 

"This  girl,"  said  the  mistress,  "is  one  of  those 
whom  we  are  instructing  in  the  first  elements.  This  is 
the  way  it  is  done.  I  want  to  make  her  say  a.  Pa}* 
attention." 

The  teacher  opened  her  mouth,  as  one  opens  it  to 
pronounce  the  vowel  a,  and  motioned  to  the  child  to 
open  her  mouth  in  the  same  manner.  Then  the  mis- 
tress made  her  a  sign  to  emit  her  voice.  She  did  so  ; 
but  instead  of  a,  she  pronounced  o. 

"  No,"  said  the  mistress,  "that  is  not  right."  And 
taking  the  child's  two  hands,  she  placed  one  of  them 
on  her  own  throat  and  the  other  on  her  chest,  and  re- 
peated, "a." 

The  child  felt  with  her  hands  the  movements  of  the 
mistress's  throat  and  chest,  opened  her  mouth  again  as 
before,  and  pronounced  extremely  well,  "a." 

In  the  same  manner,  the  mistress  made  her  pronounce 
c  and  d,  still  keeping  the  two  little  hands  on  her  own 
throat  and  chest. 

"  Now  do  you  understand?"  she  inquired. 

The  father  understood  ;  but  he  seemed  more  aston- 
ished than  when  he  had  not  understood. 

"And  they  are  taught  to  speak  in  the  same  way?" 
he  asked,  after  a  moment  of  reflection,  gazing  at  the 
teacher.  "You  have  the  patience  to  teach  them  to 
speak  in  that  manner,  little  by  little,  and  so  many  of 
them?  one  by  one  —  through  }*ears  and  years?  But 
you  are  saints  ;  that's  what  you  are  !  You  are  angels 
of  paradise  !  There  is  not  in  the  world  a  reward  that 
is  worthy  of  you  !  What  is  there  that  I  can  say  ?  Ah  ! 
leave  me  alone  with  my  daughter  a  little  while  now. 
Let  me  have  her  to  myself  for  five  minutes." 


THE  DEAF-MUTE.  287 

And  drawing  bar  to  a  seat  apart  he  began  to  interro- 
gate her,  and  she  to  reply,  and  he  laughed  with  beam- 
ing eyes,  slapping  his  fists  down  on  his  knees ;  and  he 
took  his  daughter's  hands,  and  stared  at  her,  beside 
himself  with  delight  at  hearing  her,  as  though  her  voice 
had  been  one  which  came  from  heaven  ;  then  he  asked 
the  teacher,  "  Would  the  Signer  Director  permit  me  to 
thank  him  ?  " 

"The  director  is  not  here,"  replied  the  mistress; 
"but  there  is  another  person  whom  you  should  thank. 
Every  little  girl  here  is  given  into  the  charge  of  an 
older  companion,  who  acts  the  part  of  sister  or  mother 
to  her.  Your  little  girl  has  been  intrusted  to  the  care 
of  a  deaf-mute  of  seventeen,  the  daughter  of  a  baker, 
who  is  kind  and  \ery  fond  of  her ;  she  has  been  assist- 
ing her  for  two  years  to  dress  herself  every  morning  ; 
she  combs  her  hair,  she  teaches  her  to  sew,  she  mends 
her  clothes,  she  is  good  company  for  her.  —  Luigia, 
what  is  the  name  of  your  mamma  in  the  institute  ?  " 

The  girl  smiled,  and  said,  "  Ca-te-rina  Gior-dano." 
Then  she  said  to  her  father,  "  She  is  ve-ry,  ve-ry 
good." 

The  attendant,  who  had  withdrawn  at  a  signal  from 
the  mistress,  returned  almost  at  once  with  a  light- 
1  haired  deaf-mute,  a  robust  girl,  with  a  cheerful  coun- 
tenance, and  also  dressed  in  the  red  and  white  striped 
stuff,  with  a  gray  apron  ;  she  paused  at  the  door  and 
blushed  ;  then  she  bent  her  head  with  a  smile.  She 
had  the  figure  of  a  woman,  but  seemed  like  a  child. 

Giorgio's  daughter  instantly  ran  to  her,  took  her  by 
the  arm,  like  a  child,  and  drew  her  to  her  father,  say- 
ing, in  her  heavy  voice,  "  Ca-te-rina  Gior-dano." 

"  Ah,  what  a  splendid  girl !  "  exclaimed  her  father ; 
and  he  stretched  out  one  hfmd  to  caress  her,  but  drew 


288  THE  DEAF-MUTE. 

it  back  again,  and  repeated,  "Ah,  what  a  good  girl! 
May  God  bless  her,  may  He  grant  her  all  good  fortune, 
all  consolations ;  may  He  make  her  and  hers  always 
happy,  so  good  a  gk'l  is  she,  my  poor  Gigia !  It  is  an 
honest  workingman,  the  poor  father  of  a  family,  who 
wishes  you  this  with  all  his  heart." 

The  big  girl  caressed  the  little  one,  still  keeping  her 
face  bent,  and  smiling,  and  the  gardener  continued  to 
gaze  at  her,  as  at  a  madonna. 

"You  can  take  your  daughter  with  you  for  the  day," 
said  the  mistress. 

"  Won't  I  take  her,  though  !  "  rejoined  the  gardener. 
"  I'll  take  her  to  Condove,  and  fetch  her  back  to-morrow 
morning.  Think  for  a  bit  whether  I  won't  take  he^: ! " 

The  girl  ran  off  to  dress. 

"  It  is  three  years  since  I  have  seen  her  !  "  repeated 
the  gardener.  "  Now  she  speaks  !  I  will  take  her  to 
Condove  with  me  on  the  instant.  But  first  I  shall  take 
a  ramble  about  Turin,  with  my  deaf-mute  on  my  arm, 
so  that  all  may  see  her,  and  take  her  to  see  some  of  my 
friends  !  Ah,  what  a  beautiful  day  !  This  is  consola- 
tion indeed  !  —  Here's  your  father's  arm,  my  Gigia." 

The  girl,  who  had  returned  with  a  little  mantle  and 
cap  on,  took  his  arm. 

"  And  thanks  to  all !  "  said  the  father,  as  he  reached 
the  threshold.  "  Thanks  to  all,  with  my  whole  soul ! 
I  shall  come  back  another  time  to  thank  you  all  again." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  thought,  then  disengaged 
himself  abruptly  from  the  girl,  turned  back,  fumbling 
in  his  waistcoat  with  his  hand,  and  shouted  like  a  man 
in  a  fury  :  — 

"Come  now,  I  am  not  a  poor  devil!  So  here,  I 
leave  twenty  lire  for  the  institution,  —  a  fine  new  gold 
piece." 


THE  DEAF-MUTE.  289 

And  with  a  tremendous  bang,  he  deposited  his  gold 
piece  on  the  table. 

"No,  no,  my  good  man,"  said  the  mistress,  with 
emotion.  "  Take  back  your  money.  I  cannot  accept 
it.  Take  it  back.  It  is  not  my  place.  You  shall  see 
about  that  when  the  director  is  here.  But  he  will  not 
accept  anything  either ;  be  sure  of  that.  You  have 
toiled  too  hard  to  earn  it,  poor  man.  We  shall  be 
greatly  obliged  to  you,  all  the  same." 

"No;  I  shall  leave  it,"  replied  the  gardener,  obsti- 
nately ;  "  and  then  —  we  will  see." 

But  the  mistress  put  his  money  back  in  his  pocket, 
without  leaving  him  time  to  reject  it.  And  then  he 
resigned  himself  with  a  shake  of  the  head ;  and  then, 
wafting  a  kiss  to  the  mistress  and  to  the  large  girl,  he 
quickly  took  his  daughter's  arm  again,  and  hurried  with 
her  out  of  the  door,  saying  :  — 

"Come,  come,  my  daughter,  my  poor  dumb  child, 
my  treasure  !  " 

And  the  girl  exclaimed,  in  her  harsh  voice  :  — 

"  Oh,  how  beau-ti-ful  the  sun  is  !  " 


290  GARIBALDI. 


JUNE. 


GARIBALDI. 

June  3d. 
To-morrow  is  the  National  Festival  Day. 

TO-DAY  is  a  day  of  national  mourning.  Garibaldi  died 
last  night.  Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?  He  is  the  man  who 
liberated  ten  millions  of  Italians  from  the  tyranny  of  the 
Bourbons.  He  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-five.  He  was 
born  at  Nice,  the  son  of  a  ship  captain.  At  eight  years  of 
age,  he  saved  a  woman's  life ;  at  thirteen,  he  dragged  into 
safety  a  boat-load  of  his  companions  who  were  shipwrecked ; 
at  twenty-seven,  he  rescued  from  the  water  at  Marseilles  a 
drowning  youth  ;  at  forty-one,  he  saved  a  ship  from  burning 
on  the  ocean.  He  fought  for  ten  years  in  America  for 
the  liberty  of  a  strange  people ;  he  fought  in  three  wars 
against  the  Austrians,  for  the  liberation  of  Lombardy  and 
Trentino;  he  defended  Rome  from  the  French  in  1849;  he 
delivered  Naples  and  Palermo  in  1860 ;  he  fought  again  for 
Rome  in  1867 ;  he  combated  with  the  Germans  in  defence 
of  France  in  1870.  He  was  possessed  of  the  flame  of  hero- 
ism and  the  genius  of  war.  He  was  engaged  in  forty  bat- 
tles, and  won  thirty-seven  of  them. 

When  he  was  not  fighting,  he  was  laboring  for  his  living, 
or  he  shut  himself  up  in  a  solitary  island,  and  tilled  the  soil. 
He  was  teacher,  sailor,  workman,  trader,  soldier,  general, 
dictator.  He  was  simple,  great,  and  good.  He  hated  all 
oppressors,  he  loved  all  peoples,  he  protected  all  the  weak ; 
he  had  no  other  aspiration  than  good,  he  refused  honors,  he 
scorned  death,  he  adored  Italy.  When  he  uttered  his  war- 
cry,  legions  of  valorous  men  hastened  to  him  from  all  quar- 


THE  ARMY.  291 

ters;  gentlemen  left  their  palaces,  workmen  their  ships, 
youths  their  schools,  to  go  and  fight  in  the  sunshine  of  his 
glory.  In  time  of  war  he  wore  a  red  shirt.  He  was  strong, 
blond,  and  handsome.  On  the  field  of  battle  he  was  a 
thunder-bolt,  in  his  affections  he  was  a  child,  in  affliction  a 
saint.  Thousands  of  Italians  have  died  for  their  country, 
happy,  if,  when  dying,  they  saw  him  pass  victorious  in  the 
distance ;  thousands  would  have  allowed  themselves  to  be 
killed  for  him;  millions  have  blessed  and  will  bless  him. 

He  is  dead.  The  whole  world  mourns  him.  You  do  not 
understand  him  now.  But  you  will  read  of  his  deeds,  you 
will  constantly  hear  him  spoken  of  in  the  course  of  your 
life ;  and  gradually,  as  you  grow  up,  his  image  will  grow 
before  you ;  when  you  become  a  man,  you  will  behold  him 
as  a  giant ;  and  when  you  are  no  longer  in  the  world,  when 
your  sons'  sons  and  those  who  shall  be  born  from  them 
are  no  longer  among  the  living,  the  generations  will  still 
behold  on  high  his  luminous  head  as  a  redeemer  of  the  peo- 
ples, crowned  by  the  names  of  his  victories  as  with  a  circlet 
of  stars ;  and  the  brow  and  the  soul  of  every  Italian  will 
beam  when  he  utters  his  name. 


THE    ARMY. 

Sunday,  llth. 

The  National  Festival  Day.    Postponed  for  a  week  on 
account  of  the  death  of  Garibaldi. 

"We  have  been  to  the  Piazza  Castello,  to  see  the 
review  of  soldiers,  who  defiled  before  the  commandant 
of  the  army  corps,  between  two  vast  lines  of  people. 
As  they  marched  past  to  the  sound  of  flourishes  from 
trumpets  and  bands,  my  father  pointed  out  to  me  the 
Corps  and  the  glories  of  the  banners.  First,  the  pu- 
pils of  the  Academy,  those  who  will  become  officers  in 
the  Engineers  and  the  Artillery,  about  three  hundred  in 
number,  dressed  in  black,  passed  with  the  bold  and  easy 


292  THE  ARMY. 

elegance  of  students  and  soldiers.  After  them  defiled 
the  infantry,  the  brigade  of  Aosta,  which  fought  at 
Goito  and  at  San  Martino,  and  the  Bergamo  brigade, 
which  fought  at  Castelfidardo,  four  regiments  of  them, 
company  after  company,  thousands  of  red  aiguillettes, 
which  seemed  like  so  many  double  and  very  long 
garlands  of  blood-colored  flowers,  extended  and  agi- 
tated from  the  two  ends,  and  borne  athwart  the 
crowd.  After  the  infantry,  the  soldiers  of  the  Mining 
Corps  advanced,  —  the  workingmen  of  war,  with  their 
plumes  of  black  horse-tails,  and  their  crimson  bands  ; 
and  while  these  were  passing,  we  beheld  advancing 
behind  them  hundreds  of  long,  straight  plumes,  which 
rose  above  the  heads  of  the  spectators  ;  they  were  the 
mountaineers,  the  defenders  of  the  portals  of  Italy, 
all  tall,  rosy,  and  stalwart,  with  hats  of  Calabrian 
fashion,  and  revers  of  a  beautiful,  bright  green,  the 
color  of  the  grass  on  their  native  mountains.  The 
mountaineers  were  still  marching  past,  when  a  quiver 
ran  through  the  crowd,  and  the  bersaglieri,  the  old 
twelfth  battalion,  the  first  who  entered  Rome  through 
the  breach  at  the  Porta  Pia,  bronzed,  alert,  brisk,  with 
fluttering  plumes,  passed  like  a  wave  in  a  sea  of  black, 
making  the  piazza  ring  with  the  shrill  blasts  of  their 
trumpets,  which  seemed  shouts  of  303".  But  their 
trumpeting  was  drowned  by  a  broken  and  hollow  rum- 
ble, which  anounced  the  field  artillery  ;  and  then  the 
latter  passed  in  triumph,  seated  on  their  lofty  caissons, 
drawn  by  three  hundred  pairs  of  fiery  horses,  —  those 
fine  soldiers  with  yellow  lacings,  and  their  long  cannc/ns 
of  brass  and  steel  gleaming  on  the  light  carriages,  as 
they  jolted  and  resounded,  and  made  the  earth  tremble. 
And  then  came  the  mountain  artillery,  slowly, 
gravely,  beautiful  in  its  laborious  and  rude  semblance, 


ITALY.  293 

with  its  large  soldiers,  with  its  powerful  mules  —  that 
mountain  artillery  which  carries  dismay  and  death 
wherever  man  can  set  his  foot.  And  last  of  all,  the 
fine  regiment  of  the  Genoese  cavalry,  which  had 
wheeled  down  like  a  whirlwind  on  ten  fields  of  battle, 
from  Santa  Lucia  to  Villafranca,  passed  at  a  gallop, 
with  their  helmets  glittering  in  the  sun,  their  lances 
erect,  their  pennons  floating  in  the  air,  sparkling 
with  gold  and  silver,  filling  the  air  with  jingling  and 
neighing. 

"How  beautiful  it  is!"  I  exclaimed.  My  father 
almost  reproved  me  for  these  words,  and  said  to  me  :  — 

' '  You  are  not  to  regard  the  army  as  a  fine  spectacle. 
All  these  young  men,  so  full  of  strength  and  hope, 
may  be  called  upon  any  day  to  defend  our  country, 
and  fall  in  a  few  hours,  crushed  to  fragments  b}T  bul- 
lets and  grape-shot.  Every  time  that  you  hear  the  cry, 
at  a  feast,  '  Hurrah  for  the  army  !  hurrah  for  Italy ! ' 
picture  to  yourself,  behind  the  regiments  which  are 
passing,  a  plain  covered  with  corpses,  and  inundated 
with  blood,  and  then  the  greeting  to  the  army  will 
proceed  from  the  very  depths  of  your  heart,  and  the 
image  of  Italy  will  appear  to  you  more  severe  and 
grand." 


ITALY. 

Tuesday,  14th. 

Salute  your  country  thus,  on  days  of  festival :  "  Italy,  my 
country,  dear  and  noble  land,  where  my  father  and  my 
mother  were  born,  and  where  they  will  be  buried,  where  I 
hope  to  live  and  die,  where  my  children  will  grow  up  and 
die ;  beautiful  Italy,  great  and  glorious  for  many  centuries, 
united  arid  free  for  a  few  years  ;  thou  who  didst  disseminate 
so  great  a  light  of  intellect  divine  over  the  world,  and  for 


294  ITALY. 

whom  so  many  valiant  men  have  died  on  the  battle-field, 
and  so  many  heroes  on  the  gallows  ;  august  mother  of  three 
hundred  cities,  and  thirty  millions  of  sons ;  I,  a  child,  who 
do  not  understand  thee  as  yet,  and  who  do  not  know  thee  in 
thy  entirety,  I  venerate  and  love  thee  with  all  my  soul,  and 
I  am  proud  of  having  been  born  of  thee,  and  of  calling 
myself  thy  son.  I  love  thy  splendid  seas  and  thy  sublime 
mountains ;  I  love  thy  solemn  monuments  and  thy  immortal 
memories ;  I  love  thy  glory  and  thy  beauty  ;  I  love  and  ven- 
erate the  whole  of  thee  as  that  beloved  portion  of  thee  where 
I,  for  the  first  time,  beheld  the  light  and  heard  thy  name. 
I  love  the  whole  of  thee,  with  a  single  affection  and  with 
equal  gratitude,  —  Turin  the  valiant,  Genoa  the  superb, 
Bologna  the  learned,  Venice  the  enchanting,  Milan  the 
mighty;  I  love  you  with  the  uniform  reverence  of  a  son, 
gentle  Florence  and  terrible  Palermo,  immense  and  beauti- 
ful Naples,  marvellous  and  eternal  Rome.  I  love  thee,  my 
sacred  country !  And  I  swear  that  I  will  love  all  thy  sons 
like  brothers  ;  that  I  will  always  honor  in  my  heart  thy 
great  men,  living  and  dead;  that  I  will  be  au  industrious 
and  honest  citizen,  constantly  intent  on  ennobling  myself,  in 
order  to  render  myself  worthy  of  thee,  to  assist  with  my 
small  powers  in  causing  misery,  ignorance,  injustice,  crime, 
to  disappear  one  day  from  thy  face,  so  that  thou  mayest  live 
and  expand  tranquilly  in  the  majesty  of  thy  right  and  of 
thy  strength.  I  swear  that  I  will  serve  thee,  as  it  may  be 
granted  to  me,  with  my  mind,  with  my  arm,  with  my  heart, 
humbly,  ardently;  and  that,  if  the  day  should  dawn  in 
which  I  should  be  called  on  to  give  my  blood  for  thee  and 
my  life,  I  will  give  my  blood,  and  I  will  die,  crying  thy  holy 
name  to  heaven,  and  wafting  my  last  kiss  to  thy  blessed 
banner^' 


THIRTY-TWO  DEGREES.  295 


THIRTY-TWO   DEGREES. 

Friday,  16th. 

During  the  five  days  which  have  passed  since  the 
National  Festival,  the  heat  has  increased  by  three  de- 
grees. We  are  in  full  summer  now,  and  begin  to  feel 
weary  ;  all  have  lost  their  fine  rosy  color  of  springtime  ; 
necks  and  legs  are  growing  thin,  heads  droop  and  eyes 
close.  Poor  Nelli,  who  suffers  much  from  the  heat,  has 
turned  the  color  of  wax  in  the  face ;  he  sometimes 
falls  into  a  heavy  sleep,  with  his  head  on  his  copy- 
book ;  but  Garrone  is  always  watchful,  and  places  an 
open  book  upright  in  front  of  him,  so  that  the  master 
ma}'  not  see  him.  Crossi  rests  his  red  head  against 
the  bench  in  a  certain  way,  so  that  it  looks  as  though 
it  had  been  detached  from  his  body  and  placed  there 
separately.  Nobis  complains  that  there  are  too  many 
of  us,  and  that  we  corrupt  the  air.  Ah,  what  an 
effort  it  costs  now  to  study  !  I  gaze  through  the  win- 
dows at  those  beautiful  trees  which  cast  so  deep  a 
shade,  where  I  should  be  so  glad  to  run,  and  sadness 
and  wrath  overwhelm  me  at  being  obliged  to  go  and 
shut  myself  up  among  the  benches.  But  then  I  take 
courage  at  the  sight  of  my  kind  mother,  who  is  always 
watching  me,  scrutinizing  me,  when  I  return  from 
school,  to  see  whether  I  am  not  pale ;  and  at  every 
page  of  my  work  she  sa}'s  to  me  :  — 

"Do  you  still  feel  well?"  and  every  morning  at 
six,  when  she  wakes  me  for  my  lesson,  "Courage! 
there  are  only  so  many  days  more  :  then  you  will  be 
free,  and  will  get  rested,  — you  will  go  to  the  shade  of 
country  lanes." 

Yes,  she  is  perfectly  right  to  remind  me  of  the  boys 
who  are  working  in  the  fields  in  the  full  heat  of  the 


296  THIRTY-TWO  DEGREES. 

sun,  or  among  the  white  sands  of  the  river,  which 
blind  and  scorch  them,  and  of  those  in  the  glass-facto- 
ries, who  stand  all  day  long  motionless,  with  head  bent 
over  a  flame  of  gas ;  and  all  of  them  rise  earlier  than 
we  do,  and  have  no  vacations.  Courage,  then  !  And 
even  in  this  respect,  Derossi  is  at  the  head  of  all,  for 
he  suffers  neither  from  heat  nor  drowsiness  ;  he  is  al* 
ways  wide  awake,  and  cheer\-,  with  his  golden  curls, 
as  he  was  in  the  winter,  and  he  studies  without  effort, 
and  keeps  all  about  him  alert,  as  though  he  freshened 
the  air  with  his  voice. 

And  there  are  two  others,  also,  who  are  always 
awake  and  attentive  :  stubborn  Stardi,  who  pricks  his 
face,  to  prevent  himself  from  going  to  sleep  ;  and  the 
more  weary  and  heated  he  is,  the  more  he  sets  his 
teeth,  and  he  opens  his  eyes  so  wide  that  it  seems  as 
though  he  wanted  to  eat  the  teacher ;  and  that  bar- 
terer  of  a  Garoffi,  who  is  wholly  absorbed  in  manufac- 
turing fans  out  of  red  paper,  decorated  with  little 
figures  from  match-boxes,  which  he  sells  at  two  cen- 
tesimi  apiece. 

But  the  bravest  of  all  is  Coretti ;  poor  Coretti, 
who  gets  up  at  five  o'clock,  to  help  his  father  carry 
wood  !  At  eleven,  in  school,  he  can  no  longer  keep 
his  63'es  open,  and  his  head  droops  on  his  breast.  And 
nevertheless,  he  shakes  himself,  punches  himself  on 
the  back  of  the  neck,  asks  permission  to  go  out  and 
wash  his  face,  and  makes  his  neighbors  shake  and 
pinch  him.  But  this  morning  he  could  not  resist,  and 
he  fell  into  a  leaden  sleep.  The  master  called  him 
loudly;  "Coretti!"  He  did  not  hear.  The  mas- 
ter, irritated,  repeated,  "Coretti!"  Then  the  son  of 
the  charcoal-man,  who  lives  next  to  him  at  home,  rose 
and  said :  — 


MY  FATHER.  297 

"  He  worked  from  five  until  seven  carrying  faggots." 
The  teacher  allowed  him  to  sleep  on,  and  continued 
with  the  lesson  for  half  an  hour.  Then  he  went  to 
Coretti's  seat,  and  wakened  him  very,  very  gently,  by 
blowing  in  his  face.  On  beholding  the  master  in  front 
of  him,  he  started  back  in  alarm.  But  the  master  took 
his  head  in  his  hands,  and  said,  as  he  kissed  him  on 
the  hair :  — 

"I  am  not  reproving  you,  my  son.  Your  sleep  is 
not  at  all  that  of  laziness  ;  it  is  the  sleep  of  fatigue." 


MY  FATHER. 

Saturday,  17th. 

Surely,  neither  your  comrade  Coretti  nor  Garroue  would 
ever  have  answered  their  fathers  as  you  answered  yours  this 
afternoon.  Enrico  !  How  is  it  possible  ?  You  must  prom- 
ise me  solemnly  that  this  shall  never  happen  again  so  long 
as  I  live.  Every  time  that  an  impertinent  reply  flies  to  your 
lips  at  a  reproof  from  your  father,  think  of  that  day  which 
will  infallibly  come  when  he  will  call  you  to  his  bedside  to 
tell  you,  "  Enrico,  I  am  about  to  leave  you."  Oh,  my  son, 
when  you  hear  his  voice  for  the  last  time,  and  for  a  long  while 
afterwards,  when  you  weep  alone  in  his  deserted  room,  in  the 
midst  of  those  books  which  he  will  never  open  again,  then, 
on  recalling  that  you  have  at  times  been  wanting  in  respect 
to  him,  you,  too,  will  ask  yourself,  "How  is  it  possible?" 
Then  you  will  understand  that  he  has  always  been  your  best 
friend,  that  when  he  was  constrained  to  punish  you,  it  caused 
him  more  suffering  than  it  did  you,  and  that  he  never  made 
you  weep  except  for  the  sake  of  doing  you  good ;  and  then 
you  will  repent,  and  you  will  kiss  with  tears  that  desk  at 
which  he  worked  so  much,  at  which  lie  wore  out  his  life  for 
his  children.  You  do  not  understand  now ;  he  hides  from 
you  all  of  himself  except  his  kindness  and  his  love.  You  do 
not  know  that  he  is  sometimes  so  broken  down  with  toil 


298  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

that  he  thinks  he  has  only  a  few  more  days  to  live,  and  that 
at  such  moments  he  talks  only  of  you;  he  has  in  his  heart 
no  other  trouble  than  that  of  leaving  you  poor  and  without 
protection. 

And  how  often,  when  meditating  on  this,  does  he  enter 
your  chamber  while  you  are  asleep,  and  stand  there,  lamp 
in  hand,  gazing  at  you ;  and  then  he  makes  an  effort,  and 
wsary  and  sad  as  he  is,  he  returns  to  his  labor ;  and  Tieither 
do  you  know  that  he  often  seeks  you  and  remains  with  you 
because  he  has  a  bitterness  in  his  heart,  sorrows  which 
attack  all  men  in  the  world,  and  he  seeks  you  as  a  friend, 
to  obtain  consolation  himself  and  forgetfulness,  and  he  feels 
the  need  of  taking  refuge  in  your  affection,  to  recover  his 
serenity  and  his  courage  :  think,  then,  what  must  be  his  sor- 
row, when  instead  of  finding  in  you  affection,  he  finds  cold- 
ness and  disrespect !  Never  again  stain  yourself  with  this 
horrible  ingratitude !  Reflect,  that  were  you  as  good  as  a 
saint,  you  could  never  repay  him  sufficiently  for  what  he  has 
done  and  for  what  he  is  constantly  doing  for  you.  And 
reflect,  also,  we  cannot  count  on  life ;  a  misfortune  might 
remove  your  father  while  you  are  still  a  boy,  —  in  two  years, 
in  three  months,  to-morrow. 

Ah,  my  poor  Enrico,  when  you  see  all  about  you  changing, 
how  empty,  how  desolate  the  house  will  appear,  with  your 
poor  mother  clothed  in  black !  Go,  my  son,  go  to  your  father ; 
he  is  in  his  room  at  work ;  go  on  tiptoe,  so  that  he  may  not 
hear  you  enter ;  go  and  lay  your  forehead  on  his  knees,  and 
beseech  him  to  pardon  and  to  bless  you. 


IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

Monday,  19th. 

My  good  father  forgave  me,  even  on  this  occasion, 
and  allowed  me  to  go  on  an  expedition  to  the  country, 
which  had  been  arranged  on  Wednesday,  with  the 
father  of  Coretti,  the  wood-peddler. 

We  were  all  in  need  of  a  mouthful  of  hill  air.     It 


IN  THE  COUNTRY.  299 

was  a  festival  day.  "We  met  yesterday  at  two  o'clock 
iu  the  place  of  the  Statute,  Derossi,  Garrone,  Garoffi, 
Precossi,  Coretti,  father  and  son,  and  I,  with  our  pro- 
visions of  fruit,  sausages,  and  hard-boiled  eggs  ;  we 
had  also  leather  bottles  and  tin  cups.  Garrone  carried 
a  gourd  filled  with  white  wine ;  Coretti,  his  father's 
soldier-canteen,  full  of  red  wine  ;  and  little  Precossi, 
in  the  blacksmith's  blouse,  held  under  his  arm  a  two- 
kilogramme  loaf. 

"We  went  in  the  omnibus  as  far  as  Gran  Madre  di 
Dio,  and  then  off,  as  briskly  as  possible,  to  the  hills. 
How  green,  how  shady,  how  fresh  it  was  !  We  rolled 
over  and  over  iu  the  grass,  we  dipped  our  faces  in  the 
rivulets,  we  leaped  the  hedges.  The  elder  Coretti 
followed  us  at  a  distance,  with  his  jacket  thrown  over 
his  shoulders,  smoking  his  clay  pipe,  and  from  time  to 
time  threatening  us  with  his  hand,  to  prevent  our  tear- 
ing holes  in  our  trousers. 

Precossi  whistled  ;  I  had  never  heard  him  whistle 
before.  The  younger  Coretti  did  the  same,  as  he  went 
along.  That  little  fellow  knows  how  to  make  every- 
thing with  his  jack-knife  a  finger's  length  long,  —  mill- 
wheels,  forks,  squirts  ;  and  he  insisted  on  carrying  the 
other  boys'  things,  and  he  was  loaded  down  until  he 
was  dripping  with  perspiration,  but  he  was  still  as 
nimble  as  a  goat.  Derossi  halted  every  moment  to  tell 
us  the  names  of  the  plants  and  insects.  I  don't  under- 
stand how  he  manages  to  know  so  many  things. 
And  Garrone  nibbled  at  his  bread  in  silence  ;  but  he  no 
longer  attacks  it  with  the  cheery  bites  of  old,  poor 
Garrone  !  now  that  he  has  lost  his  mother.  But  he  is 
always  as  good  as  bread  himself.  When  one  of  us  ran 
back  to  obtain  the  momentum  for  leaping  a  ditch,  he 
ran  to  the  other  side,  and  held  out  his  hands  to  us  ; 


300  IN  THE   COUNTRY. 

and  as  Precossi  was  afraid  of  cows,  having  been  tossed 
by  one  when  a  child,  Garrone  placed  himself  in  front 
of  him  every  time  that  we  passed  any.  We  mounted 
up  to  Santa  Margherita,  and  then  went  down  the  de- 
cline by  leaps,  rolls,  and  slides.  Precossi  tumbled  into 
a  thorn-bush,  and  tore  a  hole  in  his  blouse,  and  stood 
there  overwhelmed  with  shame,  with  the  strip  dangling  ; 
but  Garoffi,  who  always  has  pins  in  his  jacket,  fixed  it 
so  that  it  was  not  perceptible,  while  the  other  kept  say- 
ing, "  Excuse  me,  excuse  me,"  and  then  he  set  out  to 
run  once  more. 

Garoffi  did  not  waste  his  time  on  the  way  ;  he  picked 
salad  herbs  and  snails,  and  put  every  stone  that  glis- 
tened in  the  least  into  his  pocket,  supposing  that  there 
was  gold  and  silver  in  it.  And  on  we  went,  running, 
rolling,  and  climbing  through  the  shade  and  in  the  sun, 
up  and  down,  through  all  the  lanes  and  cross-roads, 
until  we  arrived  dishevelled  and  breathless  at  the  crest 
of  a  hill,  where  we  seated  ourselves  to  take  our  lunch 
on  the  grass. 

We  could  see  an  immense  plain,  and  all  the  blue  Alps 
with  their  white  summits.  We  were  dying  of  hunger  ; 
the  bread  seemed  to  be  melting.  The  elder  Coretti 
handed  us  our  portions  of  sausage  on  gourd  leaves. 
And  then  we  all  began  to  talk  at  once  about  the  teachers, 
the  comrades  who  had  not  been  able  to  come,  and  the 
examinations.  Precossi  was  rather  ashamed  to  eat,  and 
Garrone  thrust  the  best  bits  of  his  share  into  his  mouth 
by  force.  Coretti  was  seated  next  his  father,  with  his 
legs  crossed ;  they  seem  more  like  two  brothers  than 
father  and  son,  when  seen  thus  together,  both  ros}'  and 
smiling,  with  those  white  teeth  of  theirs.  The  father 
drank  with  zest,  emptying  the  bottles  and  the  cups 
which  we  left  half  finished,  and  said  :  — 


IN  THE  COUNTRY.  301 

"  Wine  hurts  you  boys  who  are  studying  ;  it  is  the 
wood-sellers  who  need  it."  Then  he  grasped  his  son  by 
the  nose,  and  shook  him,  saying  to  us,  "Boys,  you 
must  love  this  fellow,  for  he  is  a  flower  of  a  man  of 
honor  ;  I  tell  you  so  myself  !  "  And  then  we  all  laughed, 
except  Garrone.  And  he  went  on,  as  he  drank,  "  It's 
a  shame,  eh !  now  you  are  all  good  friends  together, 
and  in  a  few  years,  who  knows,  Enrico  and  Derossi  will 
be  lawyers  or  professors  or  I  don't  know  what,  and 
the  other  four  of  you  will  be  in  shops  or  at  a  trade, 
and  the  deuce  knows  where,  and  then  —  good  night 
comrades  ! " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  rejoined  Derossi ;  "  forv  me,  Garrone 
will  always  be  Garrone,  Precossi  will  always  be 
Precossi,  and  the  same  with  all  the  others,  were  I  to 
become  the  emperor  of  Russia :  where  they  are,  there 
I  shall  go  also." 

"Bless  you!"  exclaimed  the  elder  Coretti,  raising 
his  flask  ;  "  that's  the  way  to  talk,  by  Heavens  !  Touch 
your  glass  here  !  Hurrah  for  brave  comrades,  and  hur- 
rah for  school,  which  makes  one  family  of  you,  of  those 
who  have  and  those  who  have  not !  " 

We  all  clinked  his  flask  with  the  skins  and  the  cups, 
and  drank  for  the  last  time. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  fourth  of  the  49th  ! "  he  cried,  as 
he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  swallowed  the  last  drop ;  "  and 
if  you  have  to  do  with  squadrons  too,  see  that  you 
stand  firm,  like  us  old  ones,  my  lads  !  " 

It  was  already  late.  We  descended,  running  and 
singing,  and  walking  long  distances  all  arm  in  arm, 
and  we  arrived  at  the  Po  as  twilight  fell,  and  thousands 
of  fireflies  were  flitting  about.  And  we  only  parted  in 
the  Piazza  dello  Statute  after  having  agreed  to  meet 
there  on  the  following  Sunday,  and  go  to  the  Vittorio 


302  THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES. 

Emanuele  to  see  the  distribution  of  prizes  to  the  grad- 
uates of  the  evening  schools. 

What  a  beautiful  day !  How  happy  I  should  have 
been  on  my  return  home,  had  I  not  encountered  my  poor 
schoolmistress  !  I  met  her  coming  down  the  staircase 
of  our  house,  almost  in  the  dark,  and,  as  soon  as  she 
recognized  me,  she  took  both  my  hands,  and  whispered 
in  my  ear,  "  Good  by,  Enrico  ;  remember  me  !  "  I  per- 
ceived that  she  was  weeping.  I  went  up  and  told  my 
mother  about  it. 

"  I  have  just  met  my  schoolmistress."  —  "  She  was 
just  going  to  bed,"  replied  my  mother,  whose  eyes  were 
red.  And  then  she  added  very  sadly,  gazing  intently 
at  me,  "  Your  poor  teacher  — is  very  ill." 


THE    DISTRIBUTION   OF   PRIZES   TO   THE 

WORKINGMEN. 

Sunday,  25th. 

As  we  had  agreed,  we  all  went  together  to  the  The- 
atre Vittorio  Emanuele,  to  view  the  distribution  of 
prizes  to  the  workingmen.  The  theatre  was  adorned  as 
on  the  14th  of  March,  and  thronged,  but  almost  wholly 
with  the  families  of  workmen  ;  and  the  pit  was  occupied 
with  the  male  and  female  pupils  of  the  school  of  choral 
singing.  These  sang  a  hymn  to  the  soldiers  who  had 
died  in  the  Crimea  ;  which  was  so  beautiful  that,  when 
it  was  finished,  all  rose  and  clapped  and  shouted,  so 
that  the  song  had  to  be  repeated  from  the  beginning. 
And  then  the  prize-winners  began  immediately  to  march 
past  the  mayor,  the  prefect,  and  many  others,  who  pre- 
sented them  with  books,  savings-bank  books,  diplomas, 
and  medals.  In  one  corner  of  the  pit  I  espied  the  little 


THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES.  303 

mason,  sitting  beside  his  mother  ;  and  in  another  place 
there  was  the  head-ma.ster ;  and  behind  him,  the  red 
head  of  my  master  of  the  second  grade. 

The  first  to  defile  were  the  pupils  of  the  evening  draw- 
ing classes — the  goldsmiths,  engravers,  lithographers, 
and  also  the  carpenters  and  masons ;  then  those  of 
the  commercial  school ;  then  those  of  the  Musical  Ly- 
ceum, among  them  several  girls,  workingwomen,  all 
dressed  in  festal  attire,  who  were  saluted  with  great 
applause,  and  who  laughed.  Last  came  the  pupils  of 
the  elementary  evening  schools,  and  then  it  began  to 
be  a  beautiful  sight.  They  were  of  all  ages,  of  all 
trades,  and  dressed  in  all  sorts  of  ways, — men  with 
gray  hair,  factory  boys,  artisans  with  big  black  beards. 
The  little  ones  were  at  their  ease  ;  the  men,  a  little  em- 
barrassed. The  people  clapped  the  oldest  and  the 
youngest,  but  none  of  the  spectators  laughed,  as  they 
did  at  our  festival :  all  faces  were  attentive  and  seri- 
ous. 

Many  of  the  prize-winners  had  wives  and  children  in 
the  pit,  and  there  were  little  children  who,  when  they 
saw  their  father  pass  across  the  stage,  called  him  by 
name  at  the  tops  of  their  voices,  and  signalled  to  him 
with  their  hands,  laughing  violently.  Peasants  passed, 
and  porters  ;  they  were  from  the  Buoncompagni  School. 
From  the  Cittadella  School  there  was  a  bootblack 
whom  my  father  knew,  and  the  prefect  gave  him  a 
diploma.  After  him  I  saw  approaching  a  man  as  big 
as  a  giant,  whom  I  fancied  that  I  had  seen  several 
times  before.  It  was  the  father  of  the  little  mason, 
who  had  won  the  second  prize.  I  remembered  when  I 
had  seen  him  in  the  garret,  at  the  bedside  of  his  sick 
son,  and  I  immediately  sought  out  his  son  in  the  pit. 
Poor  little  mason !  he  was  staring  at  his  father  with 


304  THE  DISTRIBUTION  OF  PRIZES. 

beaming  eyes,  and,  in  order  to  conceal  his  emotion,  he 
made  his  hare's  face.  At  that  moment  I  heard  a  burst 
of  applause,  and  I  glanced  at  the  stage  :  a  little  chim- 
ney-sweep stood  there,  with  a  clean  face,  but  in  his 
working-clothes,  and  the  mayor  was  holding  him  by 
the  hand  and  talking  to  him. 

After  the  chimney-sweep  came  a  cook ;  then  came 
one  of  the  city  sweepers,  from  the  Raineri  School,  to 
get  a  prize.  I  felt  I  know  not  what  in  my  heart,  — 
something  like  a  great  affection  and  a  great  respect,  at 
the  thought  of  how  much  those  prizes  had  cost  all  those 
workingmen,  fathers  of  families,  full  of  care ;  how 
much  toil  added  to  their  labors,  how  man}*  hours 
snatched  from  their  sleep,  of  which  they  stand  in 
such  great  need,  and  what  efforts  of  intelligences  not 
habituated  to  study,  and  of  huge  hands  rendered 
clumsy  with  work ! 

A  factory  boy  passed,  and  it  was  evident  that  his 
father  had  lent  him  his  jacket  for  the  occasion,  for  his 
sleeves  hung  down  so  that  he  was  forced  to  turn  them 
back  on  the  stage,  in  order  to  receive  his  prize  :  and 
many  laughed  ;  but  the  laugh  was  speedily  stifled  by 
the  applause.  Next  came  an  old  man  with  a  bald  head 
and  a  white  beard.  Several  artillery  soldiers  passed, 
from  among  those  who  attended  evening  school  in  our 
schoolhouse ;  then  came  custom-house  guards  and  po- 
licemen, from  among  those  who  guard  our  schools. 

At  the  conclusion,  the  pupils  of  the  evening  schools 
again  sang  the  hymn  to  the  dead  in  the  Crimea,  but  this 
time  with  so  much  dash,  with  a  strength  of  affection 
which  came  so  directly  from  the  heart,  that  the  audience 
hardly  applauded  at  all,  and  all  retired  in  deep  emotion, 
slowly  and  noiselessly. 

In  a  few  moments  the  whole  street  was  thronged. 


MY  DEAD  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  305 

In  front  of  the  entrance  to  the  theatre  was  the  chimney- 
sweep, with  his  prize  book  bound  in  red,  and  all  arouud 
were  gentlemen  talking  to  him.  Man}-  exchanged  salu- 
tations from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  —  workmen, 
boys,  policemen,  teachers.  My  master  of  the  second 
grade  came  out  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  between  two 
artillery  men.  And  there  were  workmen's  wives  with 
babies  in  their  arms,  who  held  in  their  tiny  hands  their 
father's  diploma,  and  exhibited  it  to  the  crowd  in  their 
pride. 


MY  DEAD   SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

Tuesday,  27th. 

While  we  were  at  the  Theatre  Vittorio  Emanuele, 
my  poor  schoolmistress  died.  She  died  at  two  o'clock, 
a  week  after  she  had  come  to  see  my  mother.  The  head- 
master came  to  the  school  j'esterday  morning  to  an- 
nounce it  to  us  ;  and  he  said  :  — 

"  Those  pf  you  who  were  her  pupils  know  how  good 
she  was,  how  she  loved  her  boys  :  she  was  a  mother  to 
them.  Now,  she  is  no  more.  For  a  long  time  a  terrible 
malady  has  been  sapping  her  life.  If  she  had  not  been 
obliged  to  work  to  earn  her  bread,  she  could  have  taken 
care  of  herself,  and  perhaps  recovered.  At  all  events, 
she  could  have  prolonged  her  life  for  several  months,  if 
she  had  procured  a  leave  of  absence.  But  she  wished 
to  remain  among  her  boys  to  the  very  last  day.  On  the 
evening  of  Saturday,  the  seventeenth,  she  took  leave  of 
them,  with  the  certainty  that  she  should  never  see  tl)em 
again.  She  gave  them  good  advice,  kissed  them  all, 
and  went  away  sobbing.  No  one  will  ever  behold  her 
again .  Remember  her,  my  boys  !  " 


306  XT  DEAD  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

Little  Precossi,  who  had  been  one  of  her  pupils  in 
the  upper  primar}-,  dropped  his  head  on  his  desk  and 
began  to  cry. 

Yesterday  afternoon,  after  school,  we  all  went  to- 
gether to  the  house  of  the  dead  woman,  to  accompany 
her  to  church.  There  was  a  hearse  in  the  street,  with 
two  horses,  and  many  people  were  waiting,  and  convers- 
ing in  a  low  voice.  There  was  the  head-master,  all  the 
masters  and  mistresses  from  our  school,  and  from  the 
other  schoolhouses  where  she  had  taught  in  bygone 
years.  There  were  nearly  all  the  little  children  in  her 
classes,  led  by  the  hand  by  their  mothers,  who  carried 
tapers  ;  and  there  were  a  ver}-  great  many  from  the 
other  classes,  and  fifty  scholars  from  the  Baretti  School, 
some  with  wreaths  in  their  hands,  some  with  bunches 
of  roses.  A  great  many  bouquets  of  flowers  had  already 
been  placed  on  the  hearse,  upon  which  was  fastened  a 
large  wreath  of  acacia,  with  an  inscription  in  black  let- 
ters :  The  old  pupils  of  the  fourth  grade  to  their  mis- 
tress. And  under  the  large  wreath  a  little  one  was 
suspended,  which  the  babies  had  brought.  Among  the 
crowd  were  visible  many  servant- women,  who  had  been 
sent  by  their  mistresses  with  candles  ;  and  there  were 
also  two  serving-men  in  liven-,  with  lighted  torches ; 
and  a  wealth}'  gentleman,  the  father  of  one  of  the  mis- 
tress's scholars,  had  sent  his  carriage,  lined  with  blue 
satin.  All  were  crowded  together  near  the  door.  Sev- 
eral girls  were  wiping  away  their  tears. 

We  waited  for  a  while  in  silence.  At  length  the  cas- 
ket was  brought  out.  Some  of  the  little  ones  began  to 
cry  loudly  when  they  saw  the  coffin  slid  into  the  hearse, 
and  one  began  to  shriek,  as  though  he  had  only  then 
comprehended  that  his  mistress  was  dead,  and  he  was 


MY  DEAD  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  307 

seized  with  such  a  convulsive  fit  of  sobbing,  that  they 
were  obliged  to  carry  him  away. 

The  procession  got  slowly  into  line  and  set  out. 
First  came  the  daughters  of  the  Ritiro  della  Concezi- 
one,  dressed  in  green  ;  then  the  daughters  of  Maria, 
all  in  white,  with  a  blue  ribbon  ;  then  the  priests  ;  and 
behind  the  hearse,  the  masters  and  mistresses,  the  tiny 
scholars  of  the  upper  primary,  and  all  the  others  ;  and, 
at  the  end  of  all,  the  crowd.  People  came  to  the 
windows  and  to  the  doors,  and  on  seeing  all  those 
boys,  and  the  wreath,  they  said,  "It  is  a  schoolmis- 
tress." Even  some  of  the  ladies  who  accompanied  the 
smallest  children  wept. 

When  the  church  was  reached,  the  casket  was  re- 
laoved  from  the  hearse,  and  carried  to  the  middle  of 
the  nave,  in  front  of  the  great  altar :  the  mistresses 
laid  their  wreaths  on  it,  the  children  covered  it  with 
flowers,  and  the  people  all  about,  with  lighted  candles 
in  their  hands,  began  to  chant  the  prayers  in  the  vast 
and  gloomy  church.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  when  the 
priest  had  said  the  last  amen,  the  candles  were  extin- 
guished, and  all  went  away  in  haste,  and  the  mistress 
was  left  alone.  Poor  mistress,  who  was  so  kind  to 
me,  who  had  so  much  patience,  who  had  toiled  for  so 
many  years !  She  has  left  her  little  books  to  her 
scholars,  and  everything  which  she  possessed,  —  to  one 
an  inkstand,  to  another  a  little  picture  ;  and  two  days 
before  her  death,  she  said  to  the  head-master  that  he 
was  not  to  allow  the  smallest  of  them  to  go  to  her 
funeral,  because  she  did  not  wish  them  to  cry. 

She  has  done  good,  she  has  suffered,  she  is  dead ! 
Poor  mistress,  left  alone  in  that  dark  church !  Fare- 
well !  Farewell  forever,  my  kind  friend,  sad  and 
sweet  memory  of  my  infancy ! 


308  THANKS. 


THANKS. 

Wednesday,  28th. 

My  poor  schoolmistress  wanted  to  finish  her  year  of 
school :  she  departed  only  three  days  before  the  end 
of  the  lessons.  Day  after  to-morrow  we  go  once  more 
to  the  schoolroom  to  hear  the  reading  of  the  monthly 
story,  Shipwreck,  and  then  —  it  is  over.  On  Saturda}*, 
the  first  of  July,  the  examinations  begin.  And  then 
another  year,  the  fourth,  is  past !  And  if  my  mistress 
had  not  died,  it  would  have  passed  well. 

I  thought  over  all  that  I  had  known  on  the  preced- 
ing October,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  know  a  good 
deal  more  :  I  have  so  many  new  things  in  my  mind ; 
I  can  say  and  write  what  I  think  better  than  I  could 
then  ;  I  can  also  do  the  sums  of  many  grown-up  men  who 
know  nothing  about  it,  and  help  them  in  their  affairs  ; 
and  I  understand  much  more :  I  understand  nearly 
everj'thing  that  I  read.  I  am  satisfied.  But  how 
many  people  have  urged  me  on  and  helped  me  to  learn, 
one  in  one  way,  and  another  in  another,  at  home,  at 
school,  in  the  street,  —  ever3'where  where  I  have  been 
and  where  I  have  seen  anything  !  And  now,  I  thank 
you  all.  I  thank  you  first,  my  good  teacher,  for  hav- 
ing been  so  indulgent  and  affectionate  with  me  ;  for 
you  every  new  acquisition  of  mine  was  a  labor,  for 
which  I  now  rejoice  and  of  which  I  am  proud.  I  thank 
j-ou,  Derossi,  my  admirable  companion,  for  your  prompt 
and  kind  explanations,  for  you  have  made  me  under- 
stand many  of  the  most  difficult  things,  and  overcome 
stumbling-blocks  at  examinations  ;  and  you,  too,  Star- 
di,  you  brave  and  strong  boy,  who  have  showed  me 
how  a  will  of  iron  succeeds  in  everything ;  and  you, 
kind,  generous  Garrone,  who  make  all  those  who  know 


SHIPWRECK.  309 

you  kind  and  generous  too  ;  and  you  too,  Precossi  and 
Coretti,  who  have  given  me  an  example  of  courage  in 
suffering,  and  of  serenity  in  toil,  I  render  thanks  to 
you :  I  render  thanks  to  all  the  rest.  But  above  all, 
I  thank  thee,  my  father,  thee,  my  first  teacher,  my  first 
friend,  who  hast  given  me  so  many  wise  counsels,  and 
hast  taught  me  so  many  things,  whilst  thou  wert  work- 
ing for  me,  always  concealing  thy  sadness  from  me, 
and  seeking  in  all  ways  to  render  study  easy,  and  life 
beautiful  to  me;  and  thee,  sweet  mother,  my  beloved 
and  blessed  guardian  angel,  who  hast  tasted  all  my 
joys,  and  suffered  all  my  bitternesses,  who  hast  stud- 
ied, worked,  and  wept  with  me,  with  one  hand  caress- 
ing my  brow,  and  with  the  other  pointing  me  to 
heaven.  I  kneel  before  you,  as  when  I  was  a  little 
child  ;  I  thank  you  for  all  the  tenderness  which  you 
have  instilled  into  my  mind  through  twelve  years  of 
sacrifices  and  of  love. 


SHIPWRECK. 

(Last  Monthly  Story.) 

One  morning  in  the  month  of  December,  several 
years  ago,  there  sailed  from  the  port  of  Liverpool  a 
huge  steamer,  which  had  on  board  two  hundred  per- 
sons, including  a  crew  of  sixty.  The  captain  and 
nearly  all  the  sailors  were  English.  Among  the  pas- 
sengers there  were  several  Italians,  —  three  gentlemen, 
a  priest,  and  a  company  of  musicians.  The  steamer 
was  bound  for  the  island  of  Malta.  The  weather  was 
threatening. 

Among  the  third-class  passengers  forward,  was  an 
Italian  lad  of  a  dozen  years,  small  for  his  age,  but 


310  SHIPWRECK. 

robust ;  a  bold,  handsome,  austere  face,  of  Sicilian 
type.  He  was  alone  near  the  fore-mast,  seated  on  a 
coil  of  cordage,  beside  a  well-worn  valise,  which  con- 
tained his  effects,  and  upon  which  he  kept  a  hand. 
His  face  was  brown,  and  his  black  and  wavy  hair 
descended  to  his  shoulders.  He  was  meanly  clad,  and 
had  a  tattered  mantle  thrown  over  his  shoulders,  and 
an  old  leather  pouch  on  a  cross-belt.  He  gazed  thought- 
fully about  him  at  the  passengers,  the  ship,  the  sailors 
who  were  running  past,  and  at  the  restless  sea.  He 
had  the  appearance  of  a  boy  who  has  recently  issued 
from  a  great  famity  sorrow,  —  the  face  of  a  child,  the 
expression  of  a  man. 

A  little  after  their  departure,  one  of  the  steamer's 
crew,  an  Italian  with  gray  hair,  made  his  appearance 
on  the  bow,  holding  by  the  hand  a  little  girl ;  and 
coming  to  a  halt  in  front  of  the  little  Sicilian,  he  said 
to  him  :  — 

"Here's  a  travelling  companion  for  you,  Mario." 
Then  he  went  away. 

The  girl  seated  herself  on  the  pile  of  cordage  beside 
the  boy. 

They  surveyed  each  other. 

"  Where  are  you  going?"  asked  the  Sicilian. 

The  girl  replied  :  "  To  Malta  on  the  way  of  Naples." 
Then  she  added:  "  I  am  going  to  see  my  father  and 
mother,  who  are  expecting  me.  My  name  is  Giulietta 
Faggiani." 

The  boy  said  nothing. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  he  drew  some 
bread  from  his  pouch,  and  some  dried  fruit ;  the  girl 
had  some  biscuits  :  they  began  to  eat. 

"  Look  sharp  there  ! "  shouted  the  Italian  sailor,  as 
he  passed  rapidly  ;  "a  lively  time  is  at  hand  !  " 


SHIPWRECK.  3H 

The  wind  continued  to  increase,  the  steamer  pitched 
heavily ;  but  the  two  children,  who  did  not  suffer 
from  seasickness,  paid  no  heed  to  it.  The  little  girl 
smiled.  She  was  about  the  same  age  as  her  compan- 
ion, but  was  considerably  taller,  brown  of  complexion, 
slender,  somewhat  sickly,  and  dressed  more  than  mod- 
estly. Her  hair  was  short  and  curling,  she  wore  a  red 
kerchief  over  her  head,  and  two  hoops  of  silver  in  her 
ears. 

As  they  ate,  the}-  talked  about  themselves  and  their 
affaii's.  The  boy  had  no  longer  either  father  or  mother. 
The  father,  an  artisan,  had  died  a  few  days  previously 
in  Liverpool,  leaving  him  alone  ;  and  the  Italian  consul 
had  sent  him  back  to  his  country,  to  Palermo,  where 
he  had  still  some  distant  relatives  left.  The  little  girl 
had  been  taken  to  London,  the  year  before,  by  a  wid- 
owed aunt,  who  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  to  whom 
her  parents  —  poor  people  —  had  given  her  for  a  time, 
trusting  in  a  promise  of  an  inheritance ;  but  the  aunt 
had  died  a  few  months  later,  run  over  by  an  omnibus, 
without  leaving  a  centesimo ;  and  then  she  too  had  had 
recourse  to  the  consul,  who  had  shipped  her  to  Italy. 
Both  had  been  recommended  to  the  care  of  the  Italian 
sailor.  —  "  So,"  concluded  the  little  maid,  "  my  father 
and  mother  thought  that  I  would  return  rich,  and  in- 
stead I  am  returning  poor.  But  they  will  love  me  all 
the  same.  And  so  will  m}*  brothers.  I  have  four,  all 
small.  I  am  the  oldest  at  home.  I  dress  them.  They 
will  be  greatly  delighted  to  see  me.  They  will  come  in 
on  tiptoe  —  The  sea  is  ugly  !  " 

Then  she  asked  the  boy:  "And  are  you  going  to 
stay  with  your  relatives?" 

"  Yes  —  if  they  want  me." 

"  Do  not  they  love  you?" 


312  SHIPWRECK. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  I  shall  be  thirteen  at  Christmas,"  said  the  girl. 

Then  they  began  to  talk  about  the  sea,  and  the 
people  on  board  around  them.  They  remained  near 
each  other  all  day,  exchanging  a  few  words  now  and 
then.  The  passengers  thought  them  brother  and  sister. 
The  girl  knitted  at  a  stocking,  the  boy  meditated,  the 
sea  continued  to  grow  rougher.  At  night,  as  they 
parted  to  go  to  bed,  the  girl  said  to  Mario,  "  Sleep 
well." 

"No  one  will  sleep  well,  my  poor  children!"  ex- 
claimed the  Italian  sailor  as  he  ran  past,  in  'answer  to 
a  call  from  the  captain.  The  boy  was  on  the  point  of 
replying  with  a  "  good  night"  to  his  little  friend,  when 
an  unexpected  dash  of  water  dealt  him  a  violent  blow, 
and  flung  him  against  a  seat. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  bleeding  !  "  cried  the  girl,  fling- 
ing herself  upon  him.  The  passengers  who  were  mak- 
ing their  escape  below,  paid  no  heed  to  them.  The 
child  knelt  down  beside  Mario,  who  had  been  stunned 
by  the  blow,  wiped  the  blood  from  his  brow,  and  pull- 
ing the  red  kerchief  from  her  hair,  she  bound  it  about 
his  head,  then  pressed  his  head  to  her  breast  in  order 
to  knot  the  ends,  and  thus  received  a  spot  of  blood  on 
her  yellow  bodice  just  above  the  girdle.  Mario  shook 
himself  and  rose  : 

"  Are  you  better?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  I  no  longer  feel  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Sleep  well,"  said  Giulietta. 

"Good  night,"  responded  Mario.  And  they  de- 
scended two  neighboring  sets  of  steps  to  their  dormito- 
ries. 

The  sailor's  prediction  proved  correct.  Before  they 
could  get  to  sleep,  a  frightful  tempest  had  broken 


SHIPWRECK.  313 

\ 
loose.     It  was  like  the  sudden   onslaught   of    furious 

great  horses,  which  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  split 
one  mast,  and  carried  away  three  boats  which  were 
suspended  to  the  falls,  and  four  cows  on  the  bow,  like 
leaves.  On  board  the  steamer  there  arose  a  confusion, 
a  terror,  an  uproar,  a  tempest  of  shrieks,  wails,  and 
prayers,  sufficient  to  make  the  hair  stand  on  end.  The 
tempest  continued  to  increase  in  fur}'  all  night.  At 
daybreak  it  was  still  increasing.  The  formidable 
waves  dashing  the  craft  transversely,  broke  over  the 
deck,  and  smashed,  split,  and  hurled  everything  into 
the  sea.  The  platform  which  screened  the  engine  was 
destroyed,  and  the  water  dashed  in  with  a  terrible  roar  ; 
the  fires  were  extinguished. ;  the  engineers  fled ;  huge 
and  impetuous  streams  forced  their  way  everywhere. 
A  voice  of  thunder  shouted  : 

"  To  the  pumps  !  "  It  was  the  captain's  voice.  The 
sailors  rushed  to  the  pumps.  But  a  sudden  burst  of 
the  sea,  striking  the  vessel  on  the  stern,  demolished 
bulwarks  and  hatchways,  and  sent  a  flood  within. 

All  the  passengers,  more  dead  than  alive,  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  grand  saloon.  At  last  the  captain  made 
his  appearance. 

"  Captain  !  Captain ! "  they  all  shrieked  in  concert. 
"  What  is  taking  place?  "Where  are  we?  Is  there  any 
hope  !  Save  us  !  " 

The  captain  waited  until  they  were  silent,  then  said 
coolly ;  "  Let  us  be  resigned." 

One  woman  uttered  a  cry  of  "Mercy!"  No  one 
else  could  give  vent  to  a  sound.  Terror  had  frozen 
them  all.  A  long  time  passed  thus,  in  a  silence  like 
that  of  the  grave.  All  gazed  at  each  other  with  blanched 
faces.  The  sea  continued  to  rage  and  roar.  The  ves- 
sel pitched  heavily.  At  one  moment  the  captain 


314  SHIPWRECK. 

attempted  to  launch  one  life-boat ;  five  sailors  entered 
it ;  the  boat  sank ;  the  waves  turned  it  over,  and  two 
of  the  sailors  were  drowned,  among  them  the  Italian  : 
the  others  contrived  with  difficulty  to  catch  hold  of  the 
ropes  and  draw  themselves  up  again. 

After  this,  the  sailors  themselves  lost  all  courage. 
Two  hours  later,  the  vessel  was  sunk  in  the  water  to 
the  height  of  the  port-holes. 

A  terrible  spectacle  was  presented  meanwhile  on  the 
deck.  Mothers  pressed  their  children  to  their  breasts 
in  despair ;  friends  exchanged  embraces  and  bade  each 
other  farewell ;  some  went  down  into  the  cabins  that 
they  might  die  without  seeing  the  sea.  One  passenger 
shot  himself  in  the  head  with  a  pistol,  and  fell  head- 
long down  the  stairs  to  the  cabin,  where  he  expired. 
Many  clung  frantically  to  each  other ;  women  writhed 
in  horrible  convulsions.  There  was  audible  a  chorus 
of  sobs,  of  infantile  laments,  of  strange  and  piercing 
voices  ;  and  here  and  there  persons  were  visible  motion- 
less as  statues,  in  stupor,  with  eyes  dilated  and  sight- 
less,—  faces  of  corpses  and  madmen.  The  two  chil- 
dren, Giulietta  and  Mario,  clung  to  a  mast  and  gazed 
at  the  sea  with  staring  eyes,  as  though  senseless. 

The  sea  had  subsided  a  little  ;  but  the  vessel  contin- 
ued to  sink  slowly.  Only  a  few  minutes  remained  to 
them. 

"  Launch  the  long-boat !  "  shouted  the  captain. 

A  boat,  the  last  that  remained,  was  thrown  into  the 
water,  and  fourteen  sailors  and  three  passengers  de- 
scended into  it. 

The  captain  remained  on  board. 

"  Come  down  with  us!"  they  shouted  to  him  from 
below. 

"  I  must  die  at  my  post,"  replied  the  captain. 


SHIPWRECK.  315 

"  We  shall  meet  a  vessel,"  the  sailors  cried  to  him  ; 
"  we  shall  be  saved  !  Come  down  !  you  are  lost !  " 

"  I  shall  remain." 

"  There  is  room  for  one  more  !  "  shouted  the  sailors, 
turning  to  the  other  passengers.  "  A  woman  !  " 

A  woman  advanced,  aided  by  the  captain  ;  but  on 
seeing  the  distance  at  which  the  boat  la}',  she  did  not 
feel  sufficient  courage  to  leap  down,  and  fell  back  upon 
the  deck.  The  other  women  had  nearly  all  fainted, 
and  were  as  dead. 

"  A  boy  !  "  shouted  the  sailors. 

At  that  shout,  the  Sicilian  lad  and  his  companion, 
who  had  remained  up  to  that  moment  petrified  as  by 
a  supernatural  stupor,  were  suddenly  aroused  again  by 
a  violent  instinct  to  save  their  lives.  They  detached 
themselves  simultaneously  from  the  mast,  and  rushed 
to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  shrieking  in  concert:  "Take 
me  !  "  and  endeavoring  in  turn,  to  drive  the  other  back, 
like  furious  beasts. 

"The  smallest !"  shouted  the  sailors.  "The  boat 
is  overloaded  !  The  smallest !  " 

On  hearing  these  words,  the  girl  dropped  her  arms, 
as  though  struck  by  lightning,  and  stood  motionless, 
staring  at  Mario  with  lustreless  eyes. 

Mario  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  —  saw  the  spot 
of  blood  on  her  bodice,  —  remembered  —  The  gleam 
of  a  divine  thought  flashed  across  his  face. 

"  The  smallest !  "  shouted  the  sailors  in  chorus,  with 
imperious  impatience.  "  We  are  going  !  " 

And  then  Mario,  with  a  voice  which  no  longer 
seemed  his  own,  cried  :  "  She  is  the  lighter  !  It  is  for 
you,  Giulietta!  You  have  a  father  and  mother!  I 
am  alone  !  I  give  you  my  place  !  Go  down  !  " 

"  Throw  her  into  the  sea  !  "  shouted  the  sailors. 


316  SHIPWRECK. 

Mario  seized  Giulietta  by  the  bod}',  and  threw  her 
into  the  sea. 

The  girl  uttered  a  cry  and  made  a  splash ;  a  sailor 
seized  her  b}-  the  arm,  and  dragged  her  into  the  boat. 

The  boy  remained  at  the  vessel's  side,  with  his  hea<? 
held  high,  his  hair  streaming  in  the  wind,  —  motionless, 
tranquil,  sublime. 

The  boat  moved  off  just  in  time  to  escape  the  whirl- 
pool which  the  vessel  produced  as  it  sank,  and  which 
threatened  to  overturn  it. 

Then  the  girl,  who  had  remained  senseless  until  that 
moment,  raised  her  eyes  to  the  bo}-,  and  burst  into  a 
storm  of  tears. 

"  Good  by,  Mario !  "  she  cried,  amid  her  sobs,  with 
her  arms  outstretched  towards  him.  "Good  by! 
Good  by !  Good  by  !  " 

"Good  by!  "  replied  the  boy,  raising  his  hand  on 
high. 

The  boat  went  swiftly  away  across  the  troubled  sea, 
beneath  the  dark  sky.  No  one  on  board  the  vessel 
shouted  any  longer.  The  water  was  already  lapping 
the  edge  of  the  deck. 

Suddenly  the  boy  fell  on  his  knees,  with  his  hands 
folded  and  his  eyes  raised  to  heaven. 

The  girl  covered  her  face. 

"When  she  raised  her  head  again,  she  cast  a  glance 
over  the  sea :  the  vessel  was  no  longer  there. 


THE  LAST  PAGE  FROM  MY  MOTHER. 


JULY. 


THE  LAST  PAGE  FROM  MY  MOTHER. 

Saturday,  1st. 

So  the  year  has  come  to  an  end,  Enrico,  and  it  is  well  that 
you  should  be  left  on  the  last  day  with  the  image  of  the 
sublime  child,  who  gave  his  life  for  his  friend.  You  are  now 
about  to  part  from  your  teachers  and  companions,  and  I 
must  impart  to  you  some  sad  news.  The  separation  will  last 
not  three  months,  but  forever.  Your  father,  for  reasons 
connected  with  his  profession,  is  obliged  to  leave  Turin,  and 
we  are  all  to  go  with  him. 

We  shall  go  next  autumn.  You  will  have  to  enter  a  new 
school.  You  are  sorry  for  this,  are  you  not  ?  For  I  am  sure 
that  you  love  your  old  school,  where  twice  a  day,  for  the  space 
of  four  years,  you  have  experienced  the  pleasure  of  working ; 
where  for  so  long  a  time,  you  have  seen,  at  stated  hours,  the 
same  boys,  the  same  teachers,  the  same  parents,  and  your 
own  father  or  mother  awaiting  you  with  a  smile ;  your  old 
school,  where  your  mind  first  unclosed,  where  you  have 
found  so  many  kind  companions,  where  every  word  that  you 
have  heard  has  had  your  good  for  its  object,  and  where  you 
have  not  suffered  a  single  displeasure  wThich  has  not  been 
useful  to  you !  Then  bear  this  affection  with  you,  and  bid 
these  boys  a  hearty  farewell.  Some  of  them  will  expe-ience 
misfortunes,  they  will  soon  lose  their  fathers  and  mothers ; 
others  will  die  young ;  others,  perhaps,  will  nobly  shed  their 
blood  in  battle ;  many  will  become  brave  and  honest  workmen, 
the  fathers  of  honest  and  industrious  workmen  like  them- 
selves ;  and  who  knows  whether  there  may  not  also  be  among 


318  THE  EXAMINATIONS. 

them  one  who  will  render  great  services  to  his  country,  and 
make  his  name  glorious.  Then  part  from  them  with  affec- 
tion ;  leave  a  portion  of  your  soul  here,  in  this  great  family 
into  which  you  entered  as  a  baby,  and  from  which  you 
emerge  a  young  lad,  and  which  your  father  and  mother  loved 
so  dearly,  because  you  were  so  much  beloved  by  it. 

School  is  a  mother,  my  Enrico.  It  took  you  from  my 
arms  when  you  could  hardly  speak,  and  now  it  returns  you 
to  me,  strong,  good,  studious  ;  blessings  on  it,  and  may  you 
never  forget  it  more,  my  son.  Oh,  it  is  impossible  that 
you  should  forget  it!  You  will  become  a  man,  you  will 
make  the  tour  of  the  world,  you  will  see  immense  cities  and 
wonderful  monuments,  and  you  will  remember  many  among 
them;  but  that  modest  white  edifice,  with  those  closed 
shutters  and  that  little  garden,  where  the  first  flower  of 
your  intelligence  budded,  you  will  perceive  until  the  last 
day  of  your  life,  as  I  shall  always  behold  the  house  in  which 
I  heard  your  voice  for  the  first  time. 


THE   EXAMINATIONS. 

Tuesday,  4th. 

Here  are  the  examinations  at  last !  Nothing  else  is 
to  be  heard  under  discussion,  in  the  streets  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  school,  from  boys,  fathers,  mothers,  and 
even  tutors  ;  examinations,  points,  themes,  averages, 
dismissals,  promotions :  all  utter  the  same  words. 
Yesterday  morning  there  was  composition ;  this  morn- 
ing there  is  arithmetic.  It  was  touching  to  see  all  the 
parents,  as  they  conducted  their  sons  to  school,  giving 
them  their  last  advice  in  the  street,  and  man}'  mothers 
accompanied  their  sons  to  their  seats,  to  see  whether 
the  inkstand  was  filled,  and  to  toy  their  pens,  and 
they  still  continued  to  hover  round  the  entrance,  and 
to  say : 

"  Courage  !     Attention  !    I  entreat  you." 


THE  EXAMINATIONS.  319 

Our  assistant-master  was  Coatti,  the  one  with  the 
black  beard,  who  mimics  the  voice  of  a  lion,  and  never 
punishes  any  one.  There  were  boys  who  were  white 
with  fear.  "When  the  master  broke  the  seal  of  the 
letter  from  the  town-hall,  and  drew  out  the  problem, 
not  a  breath  was  audible.  He  announced  the  problem 
loudly,  staring  now  at  one,  now  at  another,  with 
terrible  eyes  ;  but  we  understood  that  had  he  been  able 
to  announce  the  answer  also,  so  that  we  might  all  get 
promoted,  he  would  have  been  delighted. 

After  an  hour  of  work  many  began  to  grow  weary, 
for  the  problem  was  difficult.  One  cried.  Crossi  dealt 
himself  blows  on  the  head.  And  many  of  them  are  not 
to  blame,  poor  boys,  for  not  knowing,  for  they  have  not 
had  much  time  to  study,  and  have  been  neglected  by 
their  parents.  But  Pnyvldence  was  at  hand.  You 
should  have  seen  Derossi,  and  what  trouble  he  took  to 
help  them  ;  how  ingenious  he  was  in  getting  a  figure 
passed  on,  and  in  suggesting  an  operation,  without 
allowing  himself  to  be  caught ;  so  anxious  for  all  that  he 
appeared  to  be  our  teacher  himself.  Garrone,  too,  who 
is  strong  in  arithmetic,  helped  all  he  could  ;  and  he 
even  assisted  Nobis,  who,  finding  himself  in  a  quandary, 
was  quite  gentle. 

Stardi  remained  motionless  for  more  than  an  hour, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  problem,  and  his  fists  on  his  tem- 
ples, and  then  he  finished  the  whole  thing  in  five  min- 
utes. The  master  made  his  round  among  the  benches, 
saying :  — 

' '  Be  calm !     Be  calm !     I  advise  you  to  be  calm  !  " 

And  when  he  saw  that  any  one  was  discouraged,  he 
opened  his  mouth,  as  though  about  to  devour  him,  in 
imitation  of  a  lion,  in  order  to  make  him  laugh  and 
inspire  him  with  courage.  Toward  eleven  o'clock,  peep- 


320  TH£  EXAMINATIONS. 

ing  down  through  the  blinds,  I  perceived  many  parents 
pacing  the  street  in  their  impatience.  There  was  Pre- 
cossi's  father,  in  his  blue  blouse,  who  had  deserted  his 
shop,  with  his  face  still  quite  black.  There  was  Cros- 
si's  mother,  the  vegetable-vender ;  and  Nelli's  mother, 
dressed  in  black,  who  could  not  stand  still. 

A  little  before  mid-day,  my  father  arrived  and  raised 
his  eyes  to  my  window  ;  my  dear  father  !  At  noon  we  had 
all  finished.  And  it  was  a  sight  at  the  close  of  school ! 
Every  one  ran  to  meet  the  boys,  to  ask  questions,  to 
turn  over  the  leaves  of  the  copy  -books  to  compare  them 
with  the  work  of  their  comrades. 

"  How  many  operations ?  What  is  the  total?  And 
subtraction?  And  the  answer?  And  the  punctuation 
of  decimals?" 

All  the  masters  were  running  about  hither  and  thither, 
summoned  in  a  hundred  directions. 

My  father  instantly  took  from  my  hand  the  rough 
copy,  looked  at  it,  and  said,  "  That's  well." 

Beside  us  was  the  blacksmith,  Precossi,  who  was  also 
inspecting  his  son's  work,  but  rather  uneasily,  and  not 
comprehending  it.  He  turned  to  my  father  :  — 

"•  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  tell  me  the  total?" 

My  father  read  the  number.  The  other  gazed  and 
reckoned.  "  Brave  little  one  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  per- 
fect content.  And  my  father  and  he  gazed  at  each 
other  for  a  moment  with  a  kindly  smile,  like  two 
friends.  My  father  offered  his  hand,  and  the  other 
shook  it ;  and  they  parted,  saying,  "  Farewell  until  the 
oral  examination." 

"  Until  the  oral  examination." 

After  proceeding  a  few  paces,  we  heard  a  falsetto 
voice  which  made  us  turn  our  heads.  It  was  the  black- 
smith-ironmonger singing. 


THE  LAST  EXAMINATION.  — Page  321. 


THE  LAST  EXAMINATION.  321 

THE  LAST  EXAMINATION. 

Friday,  7th. 

This  morning  we  had  our  oral  examinations.  At 
eight  o'clock  we  were  all  in  the  schoolroom,  and  at  a 
quarter  past  they  began  to  call  us,  four  at  a  time,  into 
the  big  hall,  where  there  was  a  large  table  covered  with 
a  green  cloth  ;  round  it  were  seated  the  head-master  and 
four  other  masters,  among  them  our  own.  I  was  one 
of  the  fh'st  called  out.  Poor  master !  how  plainly  I 
perceived  this  morning  that  you  are  really  fond  of  us  ! 
While  they  were  interrogating  the  others,  he  had  no 
eyes  for  any  one  but  us.  He  was  troubled  when  we 
were  uncertain  in  our  replies  ;  he  grew  serene  when  we 
gave  a  fine  answer ;  he  heard  everything,  and  made  us 
a  thousand  signs  with  his  hand  and  head,  to  say  to  us, 
"  Good  !  —  no  !  —  pav  attention  !  —  slower !  —  cour- 
age!" 

He  would  have  suggested  everything  to  us,  had  he 
been  able  to  talk.  If  the  fathers  of  all  these  pupils  had 
been  in  his  place,  one  after  the  other,  they  could  not 
have  done  more.  They  would  have  cried  "  Thanks  !  " 
ten  times,  in  the  face  of  them  all.  And  when  the  other 
masters  said  to  me,  "  That  is  well ;  you  may  go,"  his 
eyes  beamed  with  pleasure. 

I  returned  at  once  to  the  schoolroom  to  wait  for  my 
father.  Nearly  all  were  still  there.  I  sat  down  beside 
Garrone.  I  was  not  at  all  cheerful ;  I  was  thinking  that 
it  was  the  last  time  that  we  should  be  near  each  other 
for  an  hour.  I  had  not  yet  told  Garrone  that  I  should 
not  go  through  the  fourth  grade  with  him,  that  I  was  to 
leave  Turin  with  my  father.  He  knew  nothing.  And 
he  sat  there,  doubled  up  together,  with  his  big  head  re- 
clining on  the  desk,  making  ornaments  round  the  photo- 


322  THE  LAST  EXAMINATION. 

graph  of  his  father,  who  was  dressed  like  a  machinist, 
and  who  is  a  tall,  large  man,  with  a  bull  neck  and  a 
serious,  honest  look,  like  himself.  And  as  he  sat  thus 
bent  together,  with  his  blouse  a  little  open  in  front,  I 
saw  on  his  bare  and  robust  breast  the  gold  cross  which 
Nelli's  mother  had  presented  to  him,  when  she  learned 
that  he  protected  her  son.  But  it  was  necessary  to 
tell  him  sometime  that  I  was  going  away.  I  said  to 
him  :  — 

"  Garrone,  my  father  is  going  away  from  Turin  this 
autumn,  for  good.  He  asked  me  if  I  were  going,  also. 
I  replied  that  I  was." 

"  You  will  not  go  through  the  fourth  grade  with  us  ?  " 
he  said  to  me.  I  answered  "  No." 

Then  he  did  not  speak  to  me  for  a  while,  but  went 
on  with  his  drawing.  Then,  without  raising  his  head, 
he  inquired : 

"And  shall  you  remember  your  comrades  of  the 
third  grade?" 

"Yes,"  I  told  him,  "all  of  them;  but  you  more 
than  all  the  rest.  Who  can  forget  you  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly  and  seriously,  with  a  gaze 
that  said  a  thousand  things,  but  he  said  nothing  ;  he 
only  offered  me  his  left  hand,  pretending  to  continue 
his  drawing  with  the  other ;  and  I  pressed  it  between 
mine,  that  strong  and  loyal  hand.  At  that  moment  the 
master  entered  hastily,  with  a  red  face,  and  said,  in  a 
low,  quick  voice,  with  a  joyful  intonation  :  — 

"  Good,  all  is  going  well  now,  let  the  rest  come  for- 
wards ;  bravi,  boys  !  Courage  !  I  am  extremely  well 
satisfied."  And,  in  order  to  show  us  his  contentment, 
and  to  exhilarate  us,  as  he  went  out  in  haste,  he  made 
a  motion  of  stumbling  and  of  catching  at  the  wall,  to 
prevent  a  fall ;  he  whom  we  had  never  seen  laugh ! 


FAREWELL.  323 

The  thing  appeared  so  strange,  that,  instead  of  laugh- 
ing, all  remained  stupefied  ;  all  smiled,  no  one  laughed. 

Well,  I  do  not  know, — that  act  of  childish  joy  caused 
both  pain  and  tenderness.  All  his  reward  was  that 
moment  of  cheerfulness,  —  it  was  the  compensation 
for  nine  months  of  kindness,  patience,  and  even  sor- 
row !  For  that  he  had  toiled  so  long  ;  for  that  he  had  so 
often  gone  to  give  lessons  to  a  sick  boy,  poor  teacher  ! 
That  and  nothing  more  was  what  he  demanded  of  us, 
in  exchange  for  so  much  affection  and  so  much  care  ! 

And,  now,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  shall  always  see 
him  in  the  performance  of  that  act,  when  I  recall  him 
through  many  years  ;  and  when  I  have  become  a  man, 
he  will  still  be  alive,  and  we  shall  meet,  and  I  will  tell 
him  about  that  deed  which  touched  my  heart ;  and  I 
will  give  him  a  kiss  on  his  white  head. 


FAREWELL. 

Monday,  10th. 

At  one  o'clock  we  all  assembled  once  more  for  the 
last  time  at  the  school,  to  hear  the  results  of  the  exam- 
inations, and  to  take  our  little  promotion  books.  The 
street  was  thronged  with  parents,  who  had  even  in- 
vaded the  big  hall,  and  many  had  made  their  way  into 
the  class-rooms,  thrusting  themselves  even  to  the  mas- 
ter's desk :  in  our  room  they  filled  the  entire  space 
between  the  wall  and  the  front  benches.  There  were 
Garrone's  father,  Derossi's  mother,  the  blacksmith 
Precossi,  Coretti,  Signora  Nelli,  the  vegetable-vender, 
the  father  of  the  little  mason,  Stardi's  father,  and 
many  others  whom  I  had  never  seen  ;  and  on  all  sides 
a  whispering  and  a  hum  were  audible,  that  seemed  to 
proceed  from  the  square  outside. 


324  FAREWELL. 

The  master  entered,  and  a  profound  silence  ensued. 
He  had  the  list  in  his  hand,  and  began  to  read  at  once. 

"  Abatucci,  promoted,  sixty  seventieths.  Archini, 
promoted,  fifty-five  seventieths."  —  The  little  mason 
promoted  ;  Crossi  promoted.  Then  he  read  loudly  :  — 

"Ernesto  Derossi,  promoted,  seventy  seventieths, 
and  the  first  prize." 

All  the  parents  who  were  there  —  and  they  all  knew 
him  —  said  :  — 

"  Bravo,  bravo,  Derossi ! "  And  he  shook  his  golden 
curls,  with  his  easy  and  beautiful  smile,  and  looked  at 
his  mother,  who  made  him  a  salute  with  her  hand. 

Garoffi,  Garrone,  the  Calabrian  promoted.  Then 
three  or  four  sent  back ;  and  one  of  them  began  to  cry 
because  his  father,  who  was  at  the  entrance,  made  a 
menacing  gesture  at  him.  But  the  master  said  to  the 
father :  — 

"No,  sir,  excuse  me;  it  is  not  always  the  boy's 
fault ;  it  is  often  his  misfortune.  And  that  is  the  case 
here."  Then  he  read  :  — 

"  Nelli,  promoted,  sixty-two  seventieths."  His 
mother  sent  him  a  kiss  from  her  fan.  Stardi,  pro- 
moted, with  sixty-seven  seventieths !  but,  at  hearing 
this  fine  fate,  he  did  not  even  smile,  or  remove  his  fists 
from  his  temples.  The  last  was  Votini,  who  had  come 
very  finely  dressed  and  brushed,  —  promoted.  After 
reading  the  last  name,  the  master  rose  and  said  :  — 

"  Boys,  this  is  the  last  time  that  we  shall  find  our- 
selves assembled  together  in  this  room.  We  have  been 
together  a  year,  and  now  we  part  good  friends,  do  we 
not?  I  am  sorry  to  part  from  you,  my  dear  boys." 
He  interrupted  himself,  then  he  resumed:  "If  I  have 
sometimes  failed  in  patience,  if  sometimes,  without 
intending  it,  I  have  been  unjust,  or  too  severe,  for- 
give me." 


FAREWELL.  325 

"  No,  no ! "  cried  the  parents  and  many  of  the 
scholars,  —  "  no,  master,  never  !  " 

"Forgive  me,"  'repeated  the  master,  "and  think 
•well  of  me\  Next  year  you  will  not  be  with  me ;  but 
I  shall  see  you  again,  and  you  will  always  abide  in  my 
heart.  Farewell  until  we  meet  again,  boys  !  " 

So  saying,  he  stepped  forward  among  us,  and  we  all 
offered  him  our  hands,  as  we  stood  up  on  the  seats, 
and  grasped  him  by  the  arms,  and  by  the  skirts  of  his 
coat ;  many  kissed  him  ;  fifty  voices  cried  in  concert : 

"  Farewell  until  we  meet  again,  teacher  !  —  Thanks, 
teacher !  —  May  your  health  be  good  !  —  Remember 
us!" 

When  I  went  out,  I  felt  oppressed  by  the  commo- 
tion. We  all  ran  out  confusedly.  Boys  were  emerg- 
ing from  all  the  other  class-rooms  also.  There  was  a 
great  mixing  and  tumult  of  boys  and  parents,  bidding 
the  masters  and  the  mistresses  good  by,  and  exchang- 
ing greetings  among  themselves.  The  mistress  with 
the  red  feather  had  four  or  five  children  on  top  of  her, 
and  twenty  around  her,  depriving  her  of  breath ;  and 
they  had  half  torn  off  the  little  nun's  bonnet,  and 
thrust  a  dozen  bunches  of  flowers  in  the  button-holes 
of  her  black  dress,  and  in  her  pockets.  Many  were 
making  much  of  Robetti,  who  had  that  da}*,  for  the  first 
time,  abandoned  his  crutches.  On  all  sides  the  words 
were  audible :  — 

"  Good  b}'  until  next  year  !  — Until  the  twentieth  of 
October ! "  We  greeted  each  other,  too.  Ah !  now 
all  disagreements  were  forgotten  at  that  moment ! 
Votiui,  who  had  always  been  so  jealous  of  Derossi, 
was  the  first  to  throw  himself  on  him  with  open  arms. 
I  saluted  the  little  mason,  and  kissed  him,  just  at  the 
moment  when  he  was  making  me  his  last  hare's  face, 


326  FAREWELL. 

dear  boy  !  I  saluted  Precossi.  I  saluted  Garoffi,  who 
announced  to  me  the  approach  of  his  last  lottery,  and 
gave  me  a  little  paper  weight  of  majolica,  with  a 
broken  corner ;  I  said  farewell  to  ail  the  others.  It 
was  beautiful  to  see  poor  Nelli  clinging  to  Garrone,  so 
that  he  could  not  be  taken  from  him.  All  thronged 
around  Garrone,  and  it  was,  "Farewell,  Garrone!  — 
Good  by  until  we  meet !  "  And  they  touched  him,  and 
pressed  his  hands,  and  made  much  of  him,  that  brave, 
sainted  boy ;  and  his  father  was  perfectly  amazed,  as 
he  looked  on  and  smiled. 

Garrone  was  the  last  one  whom  I  embraced  in  the 
street,  and  I  stifled  a  sob  against  his  breast :  he  kissed 
my  brow.  Then  I  ran  to  my  father  and  mother.  My 
father  asked  me:  "Have  you  spoken  to  all  of  your 
comrades  ?  " 

I  replied  that  I  had.  "  If  there  is  any  one  of  them 
whom  you  have  wronged,  go  and  ask  his  pardon,  and 
beg  him  to  forget  it.  Is  there  no  one  ?  " 

"  No  one,"  I  answered. 

"  Farewell,  then,"  said  my  father  with  a  voice  full 
of  emotion,  bestowing  a  last  glance  on  the  schoolhouse. 
And  my  mother  repeated :  "  Farewell ! " 

And  I  could  not  say  anything. 


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